


Moments

by thesoundofasmile



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Canonical Character Death, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Natasha Romanov Feels, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Natasha Romanov-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2020-09-29 17:35:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 35
Words: 133,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20439872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesoundofasmile/pseuds/thesoundofasmile
Summary: Life is a series of moments, and as it turns out, so too is death.  This is a look at the variety of moments Natasha Romanoff shared with people in those five years after the Snap, and in the afterlife.





	1. Hope Sputtering as Quickly as it Sparked

**Author's Note:**

> Relatively new to writing in this fandom. I'm cross-posting this from my fanfiction.net account because I only stumbled on this site recently and it seems like a completely different community and vibe, and one I'm keen to delve into further.
> 
> I (quite obviously) own nothing of the MCU or Marvel...just dipping my toes into it to flex my creativity.
> 
> Endgame left me with a cacophony of ideas and thoughts swirling around my head, some of which I've managed to write out. A friend encouraged me to post them...and after some gentle coaxing I decided to do just that.
> 
> Enjoy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint - during, and in the aftermath of the battle.

Clint's covered in dirt and soot, and his ears are still ringing from the initial explosion. He can feel the stickiness of his own blood, and can see the glimmer of the strangely coloured alien blood that's coated his boots, arms, and most of his chest. The air is electric, but not just from the cracks of lightning that Cap and Thor are raining down on their enemies; it buzzes with the tension of good and evil, of stubbornly determined and wrongly righteous, of rays of hope and fierce arrogance.

The battlefield is a chaos of colour, heroes of all shapes and sizes standing out starkly against the darkened sky and plumes of thick smoke. It is a jigsaw of battles, segmented and interchanging from second to second. The scale, seemingly so lopsided to begin, now tips back and forth with every blow. The arrows fly from his bow swiftly, the targets chosen specifically and strategically because he knows they are not from an unlimited supply. He hears the fierce cries of his comrades, giving everything they have for humanity, and this fragile and beautiful place they call home.

It's a small bloom in his chest, but as he spots the Spider kid flying across the battlefield toward the van with the gauntlet in his hand, he feels a pulse of hope. The final few arrows pierce the air and hit their targets as he watches Danvers, Wanda, Okoye, and then Pepper, and so many more assemble to get it across the battlefield. His heart swells with pride at Wanda and the others banding together. And then he feels his throat tighten impossibly as he realizes _she's not there_. His breaths quicken and he grits his teeth trying to level himself out, because he can't break. Not here, not now. _She should be there. She deserves to be there._

He shakes his head to try and loosen the hold of the painful realization, instead focusing on the enemies in front of him, while keeping one eye on Wanda and the others as they plow through the alien forces. He feels the waves of another explosion, and he realizes that they're truly in the final stretch of it, because their strongest warriors are now battling Thanos. It feels as though the seconds fly by, and yet the minutes crawl as they duke it out. He steps up onto some wreckage, because he's always seen better from a distance, and spots Tony mere feet away from Thanos, his Iron Man gauntlet glimmering with those damn stones.

A snap, and then suddenly it is strangely calm. He watches as a blinding light fills the world, leaving them all momentarily dazed. He blinks it away and slowly his vision returns, only to watch the aliens drift away to dust. His head turns left to right and back again, trying to understand. And then his mind puts the pieces together and he realizes what Tony's just done.

Thanos drifts away and Clint looks around, finding stares of both disbelief and pride in his teammates. They won. They actually won.

But the spark of hope flickers away as he watches Rhodey, the kid, and Pepper embrace a dying Tony. The grief washes over him in waves. For Tony, who gave up his family so they could live. And for Nat, who gave up everything so they could even have a chance at bringing everyone back.

He falters, and he stumbles, arms reaching out shakily to try and steady himself as the exhaustion and grief begin to seep into his bones. His breaths are heavy and harsh as everything he's been trying to hold at bay rushes out all at once. _She's gone. She's gone and I can't get her back. She did this for me. She did this for us. She did this for her family. She's not here. She should be here. She should-_

"Barton."

Clint's gaze shifts from the unspecified point on the hazy horizon to find the wizard Tony had told them about standing in front of him. He blinks, and realizes there is a true depth of sorrow in the wizard's eyes. He'd seen it. He'd seen her death in this outcome, and Clint feels a wave of rage.

"It was the only way."

Clint's grief manifests in another burst of anger as he shoves the wizard back. "No! It was supposed to be me."

"I'm sorry," Strange says with a shake of his head, and Clint can see the regret in his eyes. His anger fades away almost instantly; he knows it isn't Strange's fault, but it still hurts.

Clint slumps in defeat and exhaustion, dropping down onto a nearby rock. _She sacrificed everything to give us a chance at this. She gave it all up so we could try. And now she doesn't even know that it was worth it. That her sacrifice has given us back what we'd lost._

"Clint."

The voice is soft this time, and there's a familiar lilt in the accent. Wanda.

"Nat's gone," he says brokenly, his eyes rising to meet hers. Tears prick her eyes as she wraps her arms around him, understanding blooming in her mournful gaze. "She's gone, and we can't get her back."

Wanda doesn't say anything, but he feels her squeeze him a little bit tighter, and feels her tears against his cheek.

"It was supposed to be me," he mumbles into her shoulder.

"Clint…"

"I- I can't- She-" he struggles to put together the words.

"I know," she says softly, and he hears the shudder in her voice and knows that it's hurting her too.

Wanda's hands move to frame his face, imploring him to meet her watery gaze. He can feel the wisps of energy behind her fingertips, but knows that she'd never let it drift into his mind. Her eyes close as more tears drip down her face, and this time he wraps his arms around her.

He remembers watching her relationship with Nat grow over the months that followed the battle with Ultron. He hadn't seen it firsthand, but it was clear in the way they both spoke about each other that they had forged a bond.

He pulls back out of her hold and stands up abruptly. "Come on," he says pulling her to her feet and putting a gentle hand to her back, "looks like everyone's gathering over there."

The gathering in the middle of the battlefield is impromptu. Everyone looks to Cap and he looks around wearily, beaten but not broken. Not physically at least, but there's an unsteadiness about him as he stands, almost as though he's swaying. Everyone's waiting for a Captain America speech, but Steve Rogers, Clint realizes, doesn't have anything to say. He's exhausted and the grief has settled onto his face, making him look older than Clint can ever remember seeing him. He'd lost a friend and teammate in Tony, and in Nat he'd lost one of his closest friends. Clint realizes that Steve looks as lost he feels, and knows that he too can't find anything to ground himself with.

It's Sam that steps in and begins to organize people into groups to check on the wounded, and begin the initial steps of reuniting people with their loved ones.

Memories of his family drift into Clint's mind as he remembers that they're back. They're at the farm. They're alive. And they're waiting for him.

* * *

Clint stays behind only briefly, reuniting with what's left of the original Avengers that had been formed to fight in New York all those years ago. They don't say much of anything, _can't_ say much of anything. He figures the loss of Tony and Nat is stinging too much, and being around each other is too painful a reminder of what they had once been.

Bruce breaks the silence and explains that they have to put the stones back from where they got them, and Clint feels the faintest glimmer of hope that returning the stone will bring her back...but then he hears the echoes of the words that had led to so much strife - _an everlasting exchange_. Bruce meets his gaze then, and Clint's sure that he knows about that tiny blip of hope that had sputtered out as quickly as it had sparked. His thoughts turn dark and bitter as he thinks that it doesn't seem fair that an everlasting exchange be required to borrow a stone.

The bitterness gives way to hope...hope that was first sparked by Nat's words to him on that street in Tokyo. He thinks of Laura, and Cooper, and Lila, and Nathaniel, and feels an overwhelming urge to be with them.

He meets Cap's gaze and holds it for a moment, feeling the understanding pass between them.

"Go," Cap says, his first words since Thanos was defeated. "We've got this."

Clint shoots him a grateful look and then heads off in search of a ride home.

He finds one of their old Quinjets that had been mostly outside of the blast, and was mercifully functional enough to fly. He gets it into the air, sets in the course, and then turns on the autopilot. He rummages around the craft, searching for something to change into and finds his old locker still containing an outfit. His hand lingers on the locker next to his with her name, but he leaves it alone. There would be time later. Right now, he had to clean himself up - because he hadn't seen them in five long years, and there was no way he was going to scare the living shit out of them with alien blood all over him.

* * *

They'd met him as the back hatch of the Quinjet lowered, and he'd held them in his arms tightly, _so tightly_, but somehow it didn't feel tight enough. He'd lost them, and with everything he'd been through in the past few days it didn't seem real that they were here. That they were in his arms, held in a hug meant to make up for lost time.

Later, after the kids had gone to bed, he and Laura went for a short walk. They stayed close enough to hear the kids if they needed them, but far enough away for the conversation Clint knew he had to have with her.

They sit side by side, staring ahead into the darkening sky dotted with stars. Laura's hand reaches over and clasps his tightly, inherently knowing that he needs her strength in this moment. He isn't convinced that she doesn't already know what he's going to tell her; she's always been able to read him.

He's not sure how, but he finds what feels like the last dredges of strength in his body to force out the words. "Nat's gone," he whispers, and the grief that he has tried so hard to lock away with the joy of getting his family back blooms once more in his chest.

Laura's eyes close at the news, and her hand comes up to cover her mouth. He sees her chest start to shake with the force of trying to keep in her cries. He can see the tears that had been brimming break the dam and streak down her face as she falls into him, gripping his shirt tightly in her fist. He hears her grief begin to pour out, and he wraps his arms around her.

"She sacrificed herself for me," he says brokenly, memories of their battle atop the cliff flashing in his mind's eye. "For us. For everyone." The lump in his throat strangles him and he can feel the tears that have been pushing against his will for hours finally rushing out and streaking down his face.

"She told me once that she never made promises she couldn't keep," Laura offers quietly, her voice quaking with the weight of the memory and the crushing truth that her friend was never coming home. "And then right after she promised me that she'd do everything in her power to make sure you always came home to us."

Clint's eyes close at her words. Nat had made good on the promise. She'd brought him home. She'd made sure everyone had a chance to come home. And as much as it killed him that she was gone, he was grateful for what she'd done. But there was a part of him that hated himself for the joy he'd felt hugging his kids and his wife after five long years. Because it belittled the bond he and Nat had built over the years. They'd been friends and partners, but it had been so much more than that. Laura was the love of his life, but Nat...she'd been his soulmate in the truest sense of the word. They'd both been broken and put themselves back together in ways that the world might not have thought pretty, but they'd fought to find their place in the world.

He lets out a shaky breath before he begins to tell Laura the rest of the details. He pieces together the timeline for her, and explains their plan for a Time Heist. He tells her about the sickening drop in his stomach as he and Nat realized what had to happen, and how he'd decided immediately that she deserved to live. He tells her about their conversation, and their battle to save each other. And then he tells her about her final plea to him to let her go, and how she'd reassured him that it was okay.

But he can't find the words to explain to her _why_ he'd been so willing to die, or to explain what he'd become in those five years. He can't find the words to tell her that even with the prospect of getting her and the kids back, choosing to let Nat live had been easy.

Laura's tears fall freely, as do his own. He holds her tightly, and breathes in the scent of her, trying to ground himself and get some footing, because he feels himself slipping. He feels himself drowning in the guilt, and the loss, and the overwhelming sadness.

He doesn't know how long they sit there before their tears subside, but eventually they do. And it's then that he tries to put into words the jumble of emotions and thoughts in his head.

"She was the best out of all of us," he says, breaking the silence. "Everyone else left it behind, or decided to move past it, but there she was, holding it all together. She was trying to get her family back together, and the rest of us had given up."

He pauses as he remembers the vulnerability he'd seen in her expression in Tokyo. Her words had been overflowing with more emotion than he'd remembered ever seeing in her, but the familiar unwavering steel was there too. He'd leaned into it, believing the hope she was providing was real. Anyone else but her, and he'd have turned them down flatly and not given it a second thought.

"I'm proud of her," he says, the smallest of smiles tugging at the corners of his mouth, even as his face is wet with tears. "I think back to when I first met her, and to who she was… She spent her whole life trying to make up for what they'd made her do. She wanted so badly to be a better person. And she was."

"She came a long way from the young assassin you brought here," Laura agrees, a slight sniffle giving away the still lingering remnants of tears.

"Yeah," he agrees, because it's true. She may have thought her ledger unable to be cleared, but in his eyes she'd long ago wiped it clean.

They fall into silence again, and his thoughts drift to their last moments together. Dangling over a cliff, hand slipping out of his, and she'd told him it was okay with a soft and gentle expression. She'd looked so damn young, and her eyes had been so bright with a depth of something in them that he couldn't quite place.

And then he realizes...it was peace. She had been at peace with her decision, and wanted so desperately to let him know that. He'd been distraught when she'd pulled away and pushed off the cliff, and he couldn't watch her hit the ground. But in those seconds immediately after their hands broke apart, she had held his gaze, and in it, he realized, had been peace.

"She went out on her terms," Clint says, the realization forming even as he says the words. "The deck was stacked against us, against her, but she made her choice."

Laura's only response is a strangled, muffled cry.

He finds himself unable to say anything else as he feels the now familiar squeezing in his chest. Somehow, despite everything they'd ever gone up against, from assassins and spies, to aliens and robots, he'd never thought he would lose her. They had survived so many things over the years that he had foolishly begun to believe he might make it through this life without losing her. He knew that it was far from certain, and that the job they'd had made that an impracticality at worst, and a hopeless wish at best, but they'd defied the odds so many times before…

He lets out a heavy and shaky exhale. He knows she wouldn't have wanted him to dwell on it. He knows she would have kicked his ass for moping around when he should be focusing on his family. He knows she would want him to be happy. But all he can think of is how young she'd looked, gazing up at him with eyes full of determination, apology, and reassurance all rolled into one.

He remembers the day he'd finally come face to face with her, clear as if it were yesterday. She was younger than he'd been told, but her eyes told him she'd lived a lot of life in her young years. And he didn't need to have read the scraps of intel they had on her to know much of her life had been filled with things no one should ever be subjected to. She had stared him down fiercely but he'd recognized the mask covering exhaustion and resignation. He'd remembered a time when someone had seen that in him, and pulled him out of it instead of killing him. And so he'd lowered his bow and introduced himself.

Clint breathes out a half chuckle as he remembers the sheer number of curse words she'd thrown at him that day, jumping from language to language. He feels the knot of grief loosen the tiniest fraction, and he thinks that maybe if he remembers everything they shared over their years together that it will help. Not a cure, and certainly not a fix, but something. A small fraction of hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Comments? Let me know, if you have a moment and are so inclined.
> 
> More to come...


	2. Here. Let's Have it Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Clint consider how to honour their friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I'm still a bit salty that the scene by the lake is meant to be a proper send-off for her character.
> 
> No. Just no.

Tony Stark had been a polarizing figure for much of his life. Lauded for his genius creations, and chastised for his indiscretions. Looked up to as a tech giant, and looked down on as a weapons manufacturer. Thanked for his philanthropy, and judged for his lavish lifestyle. Worshipped as an iron hero, and vilified by those left in the wake of his suit of armour.

But the people who could speak negatively about his sacrifice to save so many lives were few and far between, and so he was celebrated and eulogized as a hero. The public mourned the loss of Iron Man with candles, wreaths, flowers, and children's drawings laid to rest on makeshift memorials. The Avengers, his friends, and his family mourned the loss of Tony Stark with a quiet ceremony on a sunny day at the lake.

Natasha Romanoff had been a shadow for much of her life, only rising to notoriety in the darkest of circles, for all the wrong reasons. Even after she went straight and began working for SHIELD, she was only whispered about. Even after being a founding member of the Avengers for that battle in New York, she had been a footnote after the likes of Iron Man, Captain America, Thor, and the Hulk. The public hadn't fallen in love with her as they did the other Avengers.

Then SHIELD was taken down, and all her carefully guarded secrets were thrust into the light. The public had not liked what they'd seen in the Black Widow's history, and she'd been called to testify and explain her actions, investigated thoroughly, and judged harshly.

Black Widow had helped save the world a few times over, but it seemed to matter little to the public who could only point to her dark past and make assumptions about her loyalties. In the days following the battle against Thanos, Black Widow's role in their victory was not reported by the media, and the public did not mourn her.

But Natasha Romanoff was mourned by the people who she'd fought alongside, the people who she'd help train, and the people to whom she'd been a leader. By the people who had earned her trust, and she'd let in. By her friends, and by the family she had carved out for herself.

Steve thought it particularly cruel that the woman who had given her life because she believed so firmly that they would succeed in bringing everyone back, was given no recognition at all.

Clint thought it unfair, but that maybe it was the way Natasha would have wanted it. She'd always been private that way, after all.

Thor didn't understand why people couldn't accept that she'd been a fierce warrior, worthy of celebration, laying down her life so that others could go on living their comfortable lives.

Bruce was bitter that the Hulk, who'd been seen as a monster by so many for so long, could be embraced as a hero and celebrated, but that the woman who'd been more human than all of them, was maligned for her past and not remembered as the hero she had been.

* * *

Steve's eyes sweep over the familiar clearing in the forest, noting that somehow, the missiles that had rained destruction on everything else in the area had missed this spot. There is a fine layer of soot and dust, but the trees still stand tall, and the vibrant colours of the flowers are pushing through the darkness as the sunlight sneaks through the leaves above.

It wasn't often that she could be convinced to leave the Avengers facility and leave behind the various scanners and communication devices that were her links to the world. But when she did leave, he always found her in the clearing. It had become something of a comfort to her, for reasons Steve had never understood and she'd never explained.

_Yes,_ he thinks, _this is perfect._

He brings Clint to the clearing and tries to explain its significance to Nat. He tells him how she had always looked just a little less burdened after some time there, and how they used to spend hours talking about the people they'd lost in an effort to honour them. He describes how she retreated there when another possible lead would fizzle out. He explains how this place seemed to be the only real semblance of peace she had found in those five years. He tells him that while he never understood why, he knew it was special to her, and that he thinks it would be a fitting place to remember her.

He asks if Clint wants to host the funeral at his farm...she'd been a part of the Barton family before the Avengers, after all.

Clint looks around the clearing and shakes his head. "No," he says, "Here. Let's have it here."

* * *

Steve and Bruce talk at length in the days leading up to the funerals about how to honour her, and what she would have wanted. They agree that a plaque is too insignificant for what she'd contributed to their lives, but that a monument isn't a fitting tribute given how private a person she had been.

It's Wanda who suggests planting a tree on the Avengers compound grounds. She explains with a sad smile that it was _very Nat_ to have a monument hiding in plain sight, only known to those who she wanted to know of it. Okoye and T'Challa hear of the idea, and offer a tree from Wakanda known for its vibrant red blooms, and for its hardiness and longevity. They all agree it's a perfect fit, and after assurances that it will thrive in New York weather, the sapling is flown over from Wakanda.

And so, while the public still mourns for Iron Man, the Avengers gather in the clearing and celebrate the woman who'd sacrificed herself, betting her life that they would succeed in bringing everyone back. Some people speak a few words, some stay quiet and bow their heads, and some leave tokens of remembrance and honour at the base of the newly planted tree.

Clint looks around at everyone who has come to pay their respects, and a watery smile spreads across his face. She'd come into his life with no friends, no connections, and no desire to change that. And yet here she was, being celebrated by all these people whose lives she had touched in some way over the course of her life.

Laura, who loved Nat like a sister and welcomed her into their lives with open arms.

Lila and Cooper, who knew her only as Auntie Nat, the woman who had always had time to play or to read, and who always offered to listen to their gripes about their parents.

Nathaniel, who had known her briefly, but knew that he was named after her - the bravest woman his father had ever known.

Her last name may have been Romanoff, but she'd been a part of the Barton family for as long as they could remember, and they were mourning the loss of someone they had loved so very dearly. Her sacrifice had brought them back together, but left them with a gaping hole in their hearts.

Nick Fury and Maria Hill, who had been there from the very beginning. They'd watched as she had grown from a master assassin and spy to an Avenger and a leader. Nick may not have given her the warmest welcome in the beginning, but she had won him over and he'd become something of a father figure to her. Her circle of friends had grown over the years, but at the start it had been small and Maria had been one of the first to join it. They mourned the loss of a colleague who had defied and exceeded all expectations, and a friend who had been loyal to them with every fibre of her being.

T'Challa, who had witnessed firsthand the fierceness of her loyalty, come to respect it, and had counted her as an ally. Shuri, who hadn't known her personally but knew without her sacrifice she would still be dust. And Okoye, who had forged a friendship with a fellow warrior as they fought to pick up the pieces of the shattered world after the chaos of the snap. They mourned the loss of a fierce warrior, a kind leader, and a loyal friend.

Carol Danvers, who had only known her after her world was ripped apart. She respected the woman who had lost so much but still worked so fiercely to protect what was left and find a way to fix what had been done. She mourned a colleague, a friend, and a woman she knew unequivocally had been 'one of the good ones'.

Scott Lang, who'd known her only briefly, but had appreciated her enthusiasm to work on his outwardly ridiculous time travel idea. He knew that she had given up her chance at being with her own family to let everyone else get their loved ones back. And he would never forget that.

Sam, who'd spent years on the run with her. She'd trained him, fought alongside him, and saved his life more times than he could count. He respected the hell out of her, and was mourning the loss of a woman he counted among his closest friends.

Nebula and Rocket, who had worked with her in the years following the snap to protect what was left of the world. Her sacrifice had made it possible to bring back their ragtag family, and that was not by any means insignificant to them. And Quill, Mantis, Drax, and Groot, who knew that she had been a friend to their family when they couldn't, bowed their heads in respect of a hero.

Bucky, who had tried to kill her more than once during his time as the Winter Soldier. He had understood her more than anyone else ever could, given the similarities in their experiences of brainwashing and conditioning. She'd given up her freedom to let him and Steve go in Germany all those years ago, and he'd been grateful ever since.

Peter Parker, who had once fought alongside her in Germany. He had been starstruck meeting her for the first time, but had felt a sort of kinship with her...they were both spiders after all... He knew without her sacrifice, he wouldn't be standing where he was, and he would forever be in her debt for that.

Rhodey, who'd known her for longer than most. He'd watched as she took charge in the days following the snap, doing everything in her power to find a way to locate Tony, and to try and bring peace to a world thrown into chaos. It had been an awful time, but there was no one he thought more qualified and worthy of leading the Avengers than her. His heart was heavy with the loss of Tony, but he mourned the loss of her too; she had been a friend.

Pepper, who had seen her espionage skills up close and still decided to let her into her inner circle. They'd forged a friendship over the years, commiserating in their mutual hatred of Tony's antics, and finding solace in each other in an otherwise testosterone-filled Avengers Tower. Losing Tony meant she had lost a part of her family, but losing Natasha meant she'd lost a friend too.

Stephen Strange, who had looked forward in time and seen her death as a part of the one outcome in which they would win. He didn't know her personally, but honoured her role in saving the world, knowing that her sacrifice let the world go on living.

Happy, who had been embarrassed by her in their first meeting, but had shrugged it off eventually. They hadn't had many interactions in the time since, but he was grateful to her for watching Tony's back during Avengers missions. He knew that without her sacrifice the world wouldn't be what it was today, but that they were all of them the lesser for having lost her.

Wanda, who had been privy to some of Natasha's darkest memories in their first meeting. Despite their rocky start, Nat had welcomed her into the New Avengers. Training and mentoring Wanda had become her personal mission, and all the time they spent together eventually translated into a close friendship. Wanda mourned the loss of the woman who had become her big sister.

Thor, who had come to see Natasha as an equal warrior in her own right. He trusted her judgment, and enjoyed watching her confound and overwhelm enemies who assumed her smaller size and the fact that she was a woman made her a pushover. She'd been a friend to him, even though his brother had corrupted the mind of her best friend. He mourned the loss of yet another person that he had come to count as a confidante and friend.

Bruce, who had grown so close to her through the lullaby and exploring their feelings for each other. While they had never really gotten a chance to see where they could have gone, they'd found common ground in a tumultuous time. He had never been bitter that she had forced him to become the Hulk in Sokovia, just as she never held it against him that Hulk had taken off into space. She had sacrificed herself believing that they would succeed, her faith in her family never wavering, a fact which prompted a sense of pride in him. He had loved her, in his own way. She had been one of a kind, and he was certain that he'd never meet another woman like her.

Steve, who had spent years battling alongside her, and become her closest friend besides Clint. Her friendship had been a balm to his tortured soul. She'd helped him acclimate to the new century, and had been an unwavering and steady hand beside him as they took on darkness and evil. She may have teased him for being an old man, but she never thought less of him for his supposed outdated perspective on things. People liked to point to him as the heart of the Avengers, but he knew that it was Natasha that had held them together, with her tension-breaking humour, keen ability to know how to play on people's strengths, and her never-ending desire to just keep trying.

And Clint, who had been the first person to get to know Natasha Romanoff. He had helped her pull herself out of the dark cloud that the Red Room had left her mind in, and showed her that life didn't have to be cruel and painful all the time. He had always been impressed by her strength and her sheer force of will, but it was her heart that he loved most of all. They had taken everything from her, carving away at her innocence and her soul until all that was left was what they felt they could mould into a weapon. But she had broken free and had worked tirelessly to build herself back up, and she had clawed and fought for every ounce of the person she had become. She'd always wanted to be a better person, but never thought she could achieve it. He wished, more than anything, that he could have made her believe that she'd been the best out of all of them. That she had become a good person, and was worthy of being loved, admired, and cherished by her family and friends. That she was worthy of being remembered as the hero she truly was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was certainly cathartic to write, I tell ya. More in the pipeline, because that movie has too many loose threads and unexplored moments to let lie.
> 
> Would love to hear any thoughts, comments, etc...if you're so inclined. :)


	3. Your Russian is Terrible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha wakes in her afterlife, reunites with an old friend, and tries to come to terms with her fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I couldn't let that be her ending.

Natasha's whole body aches. Every nerve ending is _screaming_ at her and her head is pounding with the most excruciating headache she's ever experienced. Fiery pain is radiating from her back, and there are shooting pains flying all over her body. Her eyes are squeezed shut as she tries to breathe through the pain, but it's too overwhelming and she can't find any semblance of control over it. All she's aware of is the pain.

"Hang in there, Natasha," a voice says from afar. It breaks through the fog of pain for just a moment, and she has a fleeting thought that she's heard it somewhere before… But before she can begin to try and place it, a fresh wave of pain washes over her and she's stuck battling to just try and stay conscious.

She knows pain; it's an old friend to her. In some ways, it's even comforting in its familiarity. But this...this is beyond anything she's ever experienced. Her usual methods of withstanding torture and the accompanying pain are useless in the face of the all encompassing agony.

"Give it a minute," the voice says, breaking through the fog of pain once more. "It should level out for you soon."

_God, I hope so_, she thinks just before another wave of pain washes over her. This time she can't help the scream that slips out. Her body feels like it's on fire, but she can't move or do anything to stop it, and panic begins to rise.

"Almost there. Hang on a little longer," the voice instructs. She's not sure why, but the faint familiarity of the voice is comforting, and she feels a small sense of relief spread. The pain remains sharp and distinct, but she feels her mind begin to clear. The memories are fuzzy and unclear as she tries to think back and piece together where she is. All her mind is able to find is a jumble of scenes in no semblance of an order.

Rock…a red face…air rushing past her...a space ship...climbing a mountain…a small explosion...a man staring down at her, anguish on his face…

Her eyes fly open with recognition and the pieces fall into place immediately. Clint! The stone!

She's overwhelmed with thoughts and worries. _Did it work? Is he okay? Did everyone else get the rest of the stones? Did they get everyone back?_

Her heart drops with realization. _If I'm awake...then we can't have succeeded. Clint wouldn't have gotten the stone._

_No_, she thinks as memories of her plummet rise in her mind, _no one could have survived that fall. I must be dead. But...why does everything still hurt? Isn't the afterlife supposed to be peaceful? Unless...maybe this is a different kind of afterlife..._

And then suddenly the pain begins to fade and she can't help the sigh of relief she lets out. The fog around her mind clears, and she begins to analyze her surroundings. She's surprised to find soft grass beneath her instead of the hard, unforgiving rock at the base of the cliff. The sky above is a swirl of oranges, reds, and golds, and memories float into her mind of watching sunsets and sunrises over the lake at the compound.

"There you go," the voice says. She turns her head towards it, feeling only distant twinges of pain at the movement. Her eyes widen in shock.

"Coulson?" she says, her voice raspy with disbelief as her mind supplies the name for the face. _Okay, I'm definitely dead because he died years ago,_ she thinks, her mind still trying to come to grips with this new reality.

He smiles just like how she remembered and she feels a familiar sense of calm wrap around her like a warm blanket. In all the years she'd known him he had never looked rattled. His expression had always been calm and as though he had complete command of whatever situation he was in.

"Yeah, it's me. I gotta say though, I was kind of surprised to get this gig," he remarks drily.

Her brow furrows as she stares at him, trying to understand how he is there sitting next to her. He takes her puzzled expression as a sign to continue. "Everyone gets a guide," he explains, holding out his hands to help her sit up. She sways slightly once upright, feeling slightly dizzy at the sudden change in position, but pleased that she's not broken beyond repair. "Someone who they've lost that was important in their life. Parents, grandparents, best friends. That sort of thing."

The realization hits her suddenly as she lifts a hand to examine the back of her head where the throbbing had been most intense, finding a lump that's tender to the touch. "I…" she trails off, the words sitting on her tongue stinging with truth. "I didn't have anyone else."

Phil reaches over to give her hand another squeeze. "I think you mean that everyone else is still alive," he corrects gently.

Hope blooms in her chest. "Does that mean… Did it work?"

Phil nods, another smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Barton got the stone and brought it back to the compound and they..." He hesitates for a beat, a small frown creasing his brow as he considers his words. "Snapped? Unsnapped? Undusted? I'm really not clear what the proper terminology is," he finishes with a shake of his head and a small shrug. "But they got everyone back."

She lets out a shaky exhale and feels a single tear track its way down her cheek. It hadn't been for nothing. It had worked. They'd gotten everyone back. Laura, Cooper, Lila, and Nathaniel - they were alive again, and they would take care of him.

"I saw what you did," he says softly, his eyes finding her gaze. "It was incredibly brave."

She offers a half-hearted smile. "I had to. He has his family. They all do."

"You had a family, too, Natasha."

Her eyes close as she feels tears welling up. Losing them was already settling into the pit of her stomach as a permanent ache.

"All the more reason for me to do it. I spent five years trying to get to that point, to get somewhere where it could be fixed. It was within my grasp to be able to get us closer to that; there was no way I was going to let it slip away."

Phil is quiet for a moment before he answers. "It was a long road to get there, but you did get there in the end."

She lets out a heavy sigh. "So this is the afterlife?" she asks.

Phil doesn't comment on her abrupt change of topic, and she's grateful. "Yes...and no," he hedges. "It's more of an in between sort of place. Souls come here to heal before they move on."

"But you're here."

"Everyone gets a guide," he reminds her. "And besides, I haven't been "up here" as long as you think," he adds with a tinge of guilt, using air quotes that make her eyebrows rise in surprise.

"You weren't really dead?" She lets out a weak laugh. "I knew Fury was lying. That bastard."

Phil chuckles. "Guilty as charged. He brought me back through some...less than human means, but everything caught up to me in the end."

"I'm sorry," she says sadly, because she knows what it's like to get your life back and then have the rug pulled out from under you.

"Don't be. I lived a long enough life. I met and worked with some amazing people." He offers her a pointed smile which she returns with a small one of her own. She knows what he's saying. "You on the other hand… You were supposed to live longer," he says sadly. "You didn't get a childhood, and I had hoped after SHIELD fell that you would get to live an actual life."

"Wasn't really ever in the cards for me, Phil."

"No, you were meant for something greater. To be a hero."

"I'm not-"

"You are," he interrupts her protest. "You're a hero, Natasha."

She feels tears well in her eyes again because those words mean so much coming from Phil, who practically worshipped Captain America, the man who was the very embodiment of a hero. But the label has never felt right to her, not with the darkness in her past and the red in her ledger.

She remembers being on the receiving end of a patented Steve Rogers speech once, where he'd argued fervently that she was every bit deserving of the title of hero. They'd been walking back from clearing out a Hydra base in the middle of a city, and suddenly Steve had been surrounded by kids clamouring for his attention. She'd arched an eyebrow in amusement and quipped that she didn't see any kids looking for Black Widow's autograph. He'd shot her a look of disappointment before patiently signing every scrap of paper the kids handed him.

Her heart clenches at the thought of Steve. They had grown closer leading the Avengers together, and then even more so in those years on the run. He had become a close friend in a way that she had never anticipated. She knows that her death will hit him hard. He'd always been willing to lay down his life to save people, but had never much cared for his friends doing the same for him.

And then her thoughts drift to each of the rest of them. Thor, who loved so fiercely, but had lost so much. Bruce, who she had grown so close to through the lullaby. They'd never quite been able to work out their timing, but she had found a kindred spirit in him - someone who understood what it was to see yourself as a monster and try to reconcile that with being a hero. Tony, who understood what it was to try and make up for your past, and who had put his heart and soul into the team. And Clint, who had pulled her out of the darkness even when she'd fought him, hadn't judged her on her past, and had loved her when she hadn't deserved it. He'd been devastated when she forced his hand on that cliff.

Natasha's tears finally break the dam as memories of her life flood her mind. But she only allows herself a brief moment to mourn them before she breathes in a steadying breath and wipes away the tears and redirects her focus. The pain in her limbs has almost completely disappeared, replaced by a dull tingling, and she wiggles her toes experimentally.

Before she can verify they are moving, Phil lets out a chuckle. "Don't worry, they're moving," he says, knowing exactly where her mind had gone. "You'll heal back to your normal self. It just takes some time."

She licks her lips, stalling herself from asking the question she really wants to ask. _Is this heaven? Or hell?_

She had never been a religious person, and so had never really believed anything would happen to her when she died. But then, she hadn't believed in aliens or magical stones capable of killing off half of all life, and look how that turned out.

She wonders if her sacrifice to get the stone is enough to balance out her ledger. She wonders if it can balance the tragedy and death she'd spread with that damn hospital fire, and the grief she'd wrought with all those assassinations. And the needless blood spilled over the years, and the screams of pain from torture, and the cries of children left orphaned. And...and...and... The list was seemingly endless.

Still, the fact that Phil is with her gives her hope that she won't be stuck in some sort of hell. He'd been a good person, and definitely would have gone up, not down. But then again, maybe it was all leading her into a false sense of security before the floor dropped out from under her.

Her stomach drops with the idea that the worst is still to come. She's not certain she can handle it and come out the other side intact, because the last five years, and watching Clint scream for her as she fell had been torture enough.

"I know what you're thinking, Natasha," he interrupts her thoughts, searching for her gaze with a sad expression on his face. "You're a good person. You're not being sentenced to eternal damnation."

"I don't know if I-"

"You deserve to rest in peace," he says firmly, cutting her off. "You didn't have the keys in those early years; you weren't driving that car - they were. They made you do everything."

"I fought off the conditioning eventually, and I should have been able to do it earlier," she argues. "Phil, I know you looked into my past when they sent Clint after me, and then even more when he decided to spare my life. You know what I've done."

"I know what the _chernaya vdova _did."

Natasha can't help the laugh fall from her lips. "Your Russian is terrible."

He arches an eyebrow at her cheekiness. "Don't change the subject."

"I'm not," she protests, a small, teasing smile lingering on her lips. "But your Russian is terrible, and you needed to know that."

He sighs. "Natasha."

"I am the Black Widow. Or, at least I was," she answers with a sigh of her own. "I can't pretend it wasn't my fingers that pulled those triggers and lit those matches."

"Natalia did those things. The Black Widow did those things," he counters. "But Natasha Romanoff? She worked her whole life to be a better person, and to make the world better. She saved lives."

"Phil-"

"You gave your life to save _trillions_, Natasha," he says pointedly, his tone firm and unshakable. "If you think that doesn't balance out the shit the Red Room made you do, you're a fool."

Her eyes close as she lets his words hang in the air, finding comfort in them. Even she can admit it's hard to argue with him, because as much as she might try to deny it...it makes sense. She still thinks she should've been able to break free from their hold sooner, but then maybe it all led to that moment on the cliff. Maybe all that shit had been necessary to lead to her sacrifice.

She licks her lips again. "Can you give me a hand? I want to try standing up."

He nods, and helps to pull her up to her feet. She's still a bit unsteady, but she's relieved to find that she can stand.

"Told ya," he says with a knowing grin. "Right as rain."

"Tell that to my pounding head."

"Well, you did fall several hundred feet and land directly onto the rocky ground of an alien planet."

Her eyes widen at his brazen description of her death. He was direct, and occasionally sarcastic, yes, but never callous.

He grins, and she's perplexed.

"And now you know how Clint and I felt when you first joined SHIELD," he says, pointing a finger at her. "You would just spout off these awful, terrible, but completely accurate things, and it scared the shit out of us. You gave the word blunt new meaning."

She smiles and lets out a short laugh that he joins in with.

"So what's it like?" she asks after the laughter fades. "The...after."

"Can't really describe it," he says thoughtfully with a rueful grin. "It's sort of different for every person, or at least parts of it are."

"That's not helpful."

"Sorry," he offers with a shrug.

"Some guide you are," she teases. It feels good to banter with him again, and she realizes just how much she had missed him. He had been one of the first people outside of Clint that she'd relaxed around and let in, and losing him had hit her hard.

"You're lucky I don't assign you some paperwork to do."

"You always did like piling on the paperwork."

"No, I liked pawning off my paperwork onto you two."

Her mouth drops open. "You didn't."

"On occasion."

"How? I never…"

"You're not the only talented liar SHIELD employed," he answers with a smug grin that is just so..._Coulson_. Really, she realizes, it's less smug and more knowing.

"I don't know what to say."

His expression shifts to a more serious one. "Say you believe me when I tell you that you're worthy of being here. That you're worthy of being called a hero."

Her gaze drops to her hands which have begun twisting together, mirroring her internal struggle. It's a tell she never allowed herself to give into before now.

"Natasha," he prompts softly. "You're not a monster."

She opens her mouth to retort, the familiar denial sitting on the tip of her tongue, but finds herself thinking instead. She thinks of grateful parents thanking her for saving their children. She thinks of Steve's wide, grateful eyes meeting her gaze when he feels the bullet whiz past his head and turns to find her having knocked over a soldier behind him. She thinks of Thor, praising her as a warrior and telling her she would be welcome in Asgard. She thinks of Clint and Laura opening up their home to her. She thinks of the Barton kids, and becoming Auntie Nat. She thinks of standing shoulder to shoulder with the Avengers, taking down aliens in New York and robots in Sokovia. She thinks of trying to hold it all together for five long years after everything had fallen apart. She thinks of saving her best friend's life, and watching his anguish as she makes sure he doesn't have to be the one to let go of her hand.

"It will take time," Phil says, his voice ever gentle, kind, and reassuring. "But I think that eventually you'll be able to see yourself the way that I do. The way that Clint, Cap, Banner, Thor, Stark, and so many others did." He pauses. "At least, I hope you will."

It's Natasha who reaches over this time to give his hand a squeeze. "Thank you," she whispers.

He smiles and then wraps his arms around her in a hug. They'd never done this while they were alive, but they had been different people then, and Natasha finds that it doesn't feel strange at all. She squeezes him tightly and lets herself lean into his embrace, finding strength in the arms of her friend.

"So," he says after a moment as they break apart. "Want the grand tour?"

She swallows, apprehension swirling in her gut. She nods, not quite trusting herself to talk. Phil wraps a steadying arm around her waist and they begin to move forward with small steps - toward what's next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...thoughts? comments? If you have a moment, would love to hear 'em.


	4. Greasy, American Cheeseburgers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony wakes in his afterlife, reunites with family and friends, and tries to deal with some guilt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This idea bit me and wouldn't leave me alone.
> 
> Enjoy.

Tony's eyes fly open, and he sucks in a short, shuddering breath. The sky above is a deep and bright blue, with a handful of wispy clouds dotting it. He can feel the warmth of the sun on his skin contrasting with the cool dampness of the ground that he can feel through his clothes. His head tips to the right sluggishly, and he finds that he's apparently lying on damp sand. Panic blooms in his chest when he tries to curl his fingers through the sand unsuccessfully.

_Where the hell am I? Where's_ _everyone else?_ he thinks, eyes darting around his surroundings and cataloguing everything he can see. _Why can't I move my arm? And where's my suit?_

Suddenly pain jolts through his body, and an overwhelming fatigue settles into his bones. The pain feels like it's squeezing the air from his lungs, and the fatigue makes even keeping his eyes open an insurmountable task.

Eventually the pain tapers off slightly and Tony lets out a heavy, shuddering sigh of relief. He allows himself a moment to catch his breath before opening his eyes again and looking back down at his right hand. He finds a blackened mess of charring and bruising up along his entire right side, and his brow furrows as he tries to remember how the hell his arm had gotten so damn gnarly looking. It looks as though it had been exposed to some sort of corrosive chemical compound, or had been hit with some unknown substance.

_Or gone a few rounds with a purple alien asshole_ he thinks bitterly, the memories of Thanos beginning to come back to him in fragments.

He feels another shock of pain radiate on his right side and he lets out a gasp.

"Stark."

Tony's head swings back over to his left and he blinks rapidly, not believing what his eyes are seeing. "Yinsen?" he croaks, watching the man who had once saved his life walk toward him.

The man nods and offers a smile. "It's good to see you."

"You too," Tony replies in disbelief, gritting his teeth immediately as another round of pain shudders through him.

"You didn't waste it, I see."

Tony manages a half grin, the wheels in his mind still turning to try and make sense of everything. "Yeah well, there were some bumps in the road for sure, but I always aimed to do something good with it."

"How's your arm?" Yinsen asks, nodding toward his bruised, blackened, and lifeless right side.

Tony looks to his right again and finds the nasty black charring has actually begun to recede a bit. "Uh...better I think," he answers with a frown of confusion. "Don't really understand how though. Those stones really did a number on the Big Guy, and I've got a fraction the strength he does..."

"This is a place of healing," Yinsen explains as he takes a seat next to Tony.

"And just where is this place of healing? Because I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Toto."

"This is not just any beach, Stark. It is somewhere special to you."

Tony looks around again, realizing he does know where he is. It's his and Pepper's property...but before they'd built the house.

"Some people wake in a hospital, some in their homes, some in a place that was near and dear to their hearts, and others still in a place they had found comfort in. Your mind constructs it for your soul to heal."

Tony swallows the lump in his throat. "So I'm dead?"

Yinsen nods. "I'm afraid so. Your actions, while noble and heroic, were unfortunately also fatal. From what I've been told, the Infinity Stones carry a power sparingly few can withstand wielding."

He blows out a heavy sigh. As soon as those stones had transferred to his suit he began to feel them draining away his very life force, and he knew what he aimed to do was going to cost him dearly. He'd watched Bruce struggle earlier to contain and manage the power and the pain that came with wielding the stones, and he knew that his own fragile human body was no match for their raw power. A quick snap of his fingers and he'd felt their power swell through him at the same time as his own began to drain away.

And yet, he realizes that he's already begun to feel better. The fatigue is starting to give way to some actual energy in his limbs. But he knows that kind of healing doesn't happen on earth, or alien planets, and definitely not while adrift in space. And so he thinks that maybe a part of him had known he was dead from the moment his eyes opened to a blue sky above.

Tony lets out a groan of pain as he uses his good arm to push himself upright, testing the limits of what the limited speed healing had already done for him.

His mind shifts to memories of gentle hands on his face, and whispered reassuring words. He can feel Pepper's lips on his cheek, and hear the strength beneath the trembling of her final words to him.

Tony feels panic rise in his chest again. Pep and Morgan! They're alone. He'd promised he was out of the game, and that he had no intention of getting back in. And then it had all gone to shit, and he was stuck battling aliens again, and making the sacrifice play. Again. He feels bitterness coat his mind. Why did it always have to be him? They were alone because it just had to-

_No_, he thinks, cutting his own thoughts off. _They've got Rhodey and Happy, and a whole goddamn bullpen of folks who would move heaven and earth for them._ _They'll be okay. Pep had said that. She'd said they would be okay...and Pep was always right._

The panic fades away, but the niggling worry and the guilt remain an ache in his gut. He realizes he's been quiet for a long time, and that Yinsen is politely looking elsewhere.

"So this is the afterlife? I gotta be honest, I expected it to be a little more crowded," Tony says. "Not that I don't appreciate you being here," he adds quickly, meeting Yinsen's gaze.

"Think of this more as a stop before going to your afterlife."

Tony frowns. "A stop?"

"Souls cannot pass into the realm without first healing."

"Right. And how long does that take?"

Yinsen shrugs. "As long as it takes. For some it is quick, and for others it takes time."

Tony stays silent, letting the explanation hang in the air.

"I know it's a lot to digest," Yinsen sympathizes. "But you have already made significant progress. Your arm is nearly back to normal."

Tony looks down and finds the charring is almost gone completely, and feeling is beginning to return to his fingers. "I thought you said it was my soul that had to heal. This is healing my body."

"This is something of a physical manifestation of your soul," Yinsen explains. "No one really knows what dictates how long the healing process takes, but when you are ready, we'll go to the true afterlife."

Tony pauses and considers these facts. "Are you real? Or are you just a construct of my mind?"

Yinsen laughs lightly. "I never took you for a philosopher."

Tony just shakes his head and scoffs, even as a smile spreads. "Yeah, well I never believed in magic, and I just held magic stones in my hand and snapped people out of existence...so maybe I'm reassessing some definitions of what's real and not real."

"Maybe your mind has just constructed all of this, or maybe this is really the afterlife. I have no way of knowing. But either way - what harm is there in letting things proceed on their course?"

"None, I guess. But you've been dead for a long time...why are you here?"

"Everyone gets a guide to help them navigate the healing process, and to lead them into the beyond."

"And you're my guide?"

Yinsen nods. "Your soul selects someone from your life that is already here, that is to say - has already died - to be your guide. It is someone important to you, like a friend, sibling, parent, or partner."

Tony's eyebrow arches. _Of all the people I've lost...Yinsen is who my soul picks? Not mom? Or dad? Or hell, even Aunt Peggy?_

"Don't take offence to this," Tony says, holding up his hand in a preemptive apology, "but there's a few other people I thought might've been more, uh, _fitting_ to guide me."

"It is not always a straightforward choice, but the soul selects what it needs. Do not worry, Stark-"

"Tony," he interrupts. "Call me Tony."

Yinsen smiles. "Do not worry, Tony. You will see your loved ones soon enough."

* * *

And he did. His soul finished its healing process shortly after, and Yinsen led him to the beyond. Tony was surprised to find that the 'beyond' looked a hell of a lot like earth, but without all the scars of man-made disasters and damage to the environment.

He spent a lot of time with his parents, apologizing for countless moments, saying the things he'd never thought to say while they had been alive, and talking through the years they had missed out being there for.

Yinsen introduces him to his family, and Tony finds himself smiling at the pure joy in his friend's eyes.

He visits with Aunt Peggy, and Tony finds himself happy to listen for once, enjoying the stories of his father's discoveries and wild parties, about Steve when he was just a tiny asthmatic kid from Brooklyn, her own missions and close calls, and how SHIELD got started up.

"But enough about me, _Anthony_," Peggy says after a few hours, a teasing lilt in her voice as she uses his full name. "What about you? Tell me about your family."

Tony's smile is genuine, but bittersweet. He tells her about how he and Pepper fell in love and the rocky road they'd been on since that first moment she'd become his assistant. He tells her about his little girl, and how she's the best goddamned thing he'd ever done with his life.

"And your team?" she prompts, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"You just want to hear about Steve," he retorts, pointing an accusing finger at her.

She laughs. "Guilty," she admits. "But I want to hear about the rest of them too!"

"Well, you know Steve already. I doubt he's changed too much. Spangley's always been firm about his morals and his principles."

"Tony," she tuts.

He holds up his hands. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry. He and I didn't exactly see eye to eye on a lot, but we were there for each other when push came to shove. He was a helluva guy, I'll give you that."

Peggy nods, but stays silent.

He tells her about Bruce and their mutual love of science and unfortunate penchant for stumbling onto accidental discoveries. About Thor, and how he could never resist trying to one-up himself with pop culture references that flew over the demigod's head. About Clint, the wiseass archer with a fondness for high places, that he loved to tease with Robin Hood and Hunger Games references.

And then he thinks of Natasha, and his stomach drops.

Peggy frowns, noticing his expression. "What's wrong?"

"I can't believe I- She's been here all this time and I didn't even..."

"Tony, who's been here?"

"Natasha," he whispers.

_How could I have forgotten?_

He jumps up, mumbles an apology and a promise to come back soon to Peggy and sprints off.

* * *

He finds her, unsurprisingly, at the Avengers Compound. She's sitting with her back to him on the dock, gazing out over the lake, watching the sun set and paint the sky with rich reds, oranges, and golds.

"Nat," he breathes out at the sight of her, feeling emotion and guilt form a lump in his throat.

He had never been an overly emotional person, but there was just something about the afterlife that made all those carefully constructed emotional dams he'd spent his whole life building break wide open.

His steps toward her are slow and unsteady as he prepares himself. He has absolutely no excuse for forgetting her. She'd sacrificed herself to give them a chance to fix the damage Thanos had done with the snap of his fingers. She'd thrown herself off a goddamned cliff so Clint could get the stone, and he had forgotten that she would be in the afterlife with him. He'd been so wrapped up in seeing his parents, and Aunt Peggy, and meeting Yinsen's family, that he hadn't stopped to think that she would be here.

He knew so little of her past, and had always assumed that she didn't really have a family...but realizing that she was truly alone here at the compound made him sick to his stomach. In those years after the snap...she'd held what was left of the Avengers together. They had been her family, and yet she was left all alone because her actions had _saved_ everyone.

"Nat," he calls out softly once he's closer.

"Hey," she replies as she turns and looks up at him, meeting his gaze. "I was wondering when you'd show up, shell-head."

He smiles at her teasing tone. "Oh, you know me, Red. Had to find the best place for some cheeseburgers," he drawls.

A light laugh bubbles up from her. "Yeah? Where's mine?"

"Didn't peg you for a fan."

"Who doesn't like a greasy, American cheeseburger?"

"Well, a Russian obviously," he deadpans.

She lets out another laugh, and he smiles because he can't remember the last time he had seen her laughing. He remembers her keen ability to zing one liners at the perfect moment, her ongoing banter with Clint, and her constant teasing of Cap about his old age. But even with all of that, she hadn't _laughed_ all that often. Tony wonders idly if that had been a conscious decision, or if it was just a byproduct of her childhood. _Or rather, the lack thereo_f, he thinks sadly. She'd grown up in hell, but had clawed her way out and built herself back up after they'd spent years breaking her down. He didn't know much about it, but he knew enough to be certain that she got to claim the crown for most tragic backstory out of their little ragtag group.

"I suppose that's fair," she replies, pulling him out of his thoughts. "But for the record, I wouldn't turn down one in the future."

"Duly noted," he says with a solemn nod. If she wanted a cheeseburger, he figured it was the _least_ he could do, considering she'd given up _everything_ for them.

"Care to join me?" she asks, patting the spot next to her.

He nods and drops down to sit beside her. Her gaze has shifted back to the setting sun, but he keeps his eyes on her. She looks younger than the last time he saw her, the worry lines on her face having faded and her eyes shining a bit brighter. Her hair is a touch shorter, he thinks, and the blonde tips have disappeared leaving just the vibrant red he remembers from when he first met her. Her posture is relaxed, and she looks peaceful in a way that he's never seen before.

"I'm sorry, Nat."

She turns to him with a slight frown, the unspoken question in her eyes.

He tries to swallow the lump in his throat and then exhales shakily when it doesn't disappear.

"Tony," she says softly, understanding blooming in her gaze. Because _of course_ she understood. "There's nothing to be sorry for."

"But I-"

"But nothing," she says with a shake of her head.

"Nat," he says sadly, feeling himself begin to choke up. "You gave up everything."

"So did you," she replies swiftly, an apology bleeding into her tone. "It wasn't fair that the world needed you to be a hero for them again."

"It wouldn't have meant a damn thing if you hadn't done what you did."

"And that's why I did it," she counters. "I spent five years trying to get to a point where I could do something to fix what we hadn't been able to prevent in the first place."

"You deserved to be there to see it."

"And you deserved to live out your life with Pepper and Morgan."

He considers her words and realizes he can't refute them. He's not bitter about it, not anymore. He would have loved to be there with them, but he had sworn to protect them...and he had done just that. Just as she had chosen to save her family.

"Guess we both drew the short straw," he quips, his tone still subdued.

She smiles sadly. "Maybe. But I wouldn't change things."

He isn't surprised by her words. She had always been a touch ruthless when it came to completing missions.

"I'm sorry I didn't come see you sooner." The words feel like knives on his soul as he forces them out.

"It's okay, Tony. You had family and friends up here waiting for you, and you deserve to spend time with them."

Her words prompt another lump to rise in his throat. Left all alone and forgotten after making the ultimate sacrifice, and she was reassuring _him_.

"You're my family too, Nat," he replies softly, hoping she understands that he really and truly means it.

She gives him a watery smile and reaches over to hold his hand in hers. "You're very sweet when you're not being an asshole."

The chuckle sneaks out before he can even try to contain it. "And you're sweet when you're not spitting phrases in Latin at me."

She laughs lightly at his callback to their early time together. She was utterly terrifying then. It had been mindblowing to him that she could slide so seamlessly into a role, and make everyone believe what she wanted.

They fall into silence, and Tony is acutely aware that she hasn't let go of his hand. It's not something he thinks she would have ever done when they were alive, but they were different people then. They'd changed. _Dying does that to you, apparently,_ he thinks dryly.

"We had a funeral for you," he says, suddenly remembering being next to the lake, trying to make sense of what happened and find the strength to go on when the rug had been ruthlessly pulled out from under all of them.

"Sorry I missed it," she quips, trying for some levity but failing miserably. Her expression is unreadable, but he doesn't miss the emotion in her eyes.

"Bruce threw a bench."

Her eyebrow arches.

"Thor argued with Clint and yelled at me."

"Didn't know he cared that much."

Tony's gaze narrows. _Deflection, _he diagnoses. "We both know that's a lie."

She doesn't respond, and he knows his words hit their mark.

"Steve cried some manly tears."

"Steve cried when you made him watch the Notebook."

"Nat," he says softly, not accepting this deflection either.

"What about you?" she asks after a moment as she turns to meet his gaze.

There's not a hint of resentment in her expression, but he finds he can't look at her. The guilt churns in his gut as he remembers sitting at this very dock not so long ago, asking if she had any family. Asking as if it wasn't something he should already know. He'd fought alongside her for years, and she'd saved his life..._god more times than he could count_…but he apparently didn't care enough to find out something so basic about her.

"Tony..." she prompts, her voice so quiet he almost misses it.

"I'm sorry, Nat."

She smiles gently. "You said that already."

He shakes his head. "Nat, I-"

She squeezes his hand to stop him. "It's alright. It's behind us now," she says. Her voice is gentle and reassuring, but he still feels the twinges of his guilty conscience.

It's quiet for a few moments then, and he's left to ponder the forgiveness she had offered without knowing his guilt and regret.

"How are they?" her voice is quiet, and almost unsure. It takes him by surprise, having been used to the cool and confident tone she always seemed to slip into.

"They miss you, Nat," he says gently. He knows this is treading into difficult territory for her, and is mindful that while he has had the balm of his family greeting him in his afterlife to take away the sting of dying, she hasn't had the same. She'd been thrust into it all alone after making an impossible decision. "I don't think any of us really realized just _how _important a part of our lives you were until we got back on that damn pad and Clint fell to his knees in grief," he admits honestly.

He feels her hand slip out of his and watches as her head tips forward, hair shielding her face from him but doing nothing to mask the quiet sounds of grief escaping her.

"You deserved better, Nat. You're a hero," he says gently. "And I know you aren't necessarily okay with that word being used to describe you," he adds, noticing her shift in discomfort, "but it's the God's honest truth."

"You don't know what I did before I met Clint." It comes out in a pained whisper. He may not know the specifics but he understands what she means, knows it in his bones, because all those weapons he'd made and profited from hadn't been dropping peace and love on the world.

"I know it doesn't matter, because you sacrificed yourself for trillions on that goddamned planet."

She doesn't respond, and he isn't convinced his words have sunk in.

"You said the world needed me to be a hero. Well I've got news for you, 007, my lavish lifestyle wasn't possible because I won the lottery. I manufactured the weapons that killed people across the world for years. And I chose to stop making them, the same way you decided to start helping people. If I'm a hero, and I totally am by the way -you said so yourself- then you're a hero too."

Quiet sobs shake her small frame and he wraps an arm around her, pulling her gently into him. She surprises him again by curling into the contact.

"I'm sorry you had to be here too, Tony," she says softly after a few moments.

"Yeah, me too. But like you said, wouldn't change things. We won. We beat the bastard. And now everyone else gets to live their lives."

"And what about us?"

He squeezes her shoulder. "We get to rest in peace, I guess."

"Sounds nice."

"Sounds boring," he corrects with a cheeky grin. "Tomorrow you and I are going to find some hobbies or something, because I am going to go insane if I have nothing to tinker with."

She lets out a chuckle as she wipes away the remnants of her tears.

"It's beautiful," he says, nodding toward the sun which has almost disappeared entirely beneath the horizon.

"Yeah," she says softly, so softly he almost misses it.

"You came here often, right?" he asks, vaguely remembering Steve mentioning it once.

"On Earth?" she clarifies. He nods. "Often enough, I suppose."

"And what about now?"

A hint of a smile spreads. "Every night. It reminds me of home."

Tony smiles at that, a feeling of hope spreading through him. They'd be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Comments?
> 
> Love to hear 'em if you wanna share.


	5. Don't Be So Flippant About It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint wakes in familiar surroundings, but quickly finds they aren't quite what he thinks they are as he reunites with an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because a reunion between them was too juicy to pass up...

The first thing Clint feels as he wakes is the combination of the warmth of the sun and the coolness of the breeze over his skin. His next breath tells him that he's in the country, because that crisp and fresh quality in the air isn't something you can find in a city. He opens his eyes slowly, finding a vibrant blue sky above him with a few fluffy clouds drifting seemingly aimlessly.

Leaves rustle nearby and he slides his gaze down to the trunk of the tree by his feet, finding an anchor point for the hammock he's apparently in. He eyes the tree for another moment, realizing it's familiar because he had planted it long ago with a then 3-year old Cooper.

The realization triggers a small rush of memories from over the years that coax a smile from him - afternoons spent playing in the treehouse with the kids, evenings spent curled up next to Laura in front of the fire pit after the kids had gone to bed, archery lessons with Lila, elaborate obstacle courses with Cooper, and long games of catch with Nate.

His eyes drift shut once more as more recent memories begin to surface.

He remembers Laura, with her eyes crinkling and beautiful smile spreading, holding his hand and kissing him gently. Then a whisper in his ear, and he can practically feel the warmth of her breath. "Give Nat a hug from me, okay?" She pulls back and then kisses him again. "I love you, Clint," she says softly, but with all the strength in the world, he thinks.

He remembers Lila, his little girl even if she isn't quite so little anymore, pressing a watery kiss to his cheek. "Don't worry about mom, okay? I'll make sure she's okay." A short silence grips them both as their gazes meet. "I love you, dad. I love you so, so much," she murmurs through her tears.

He remembers Cooper, who made him a father and changed his life forever, squeezing his hand. Like him, he's at a loss for words and stays silent. Their eyes meet, and Clint can feel the love from his gaze. He knows that his eyes are saying everything he can't put into words.

And he remembers Nate, the one who'd been a surprise but brought joy in a much needed time, wiping away the tears from his cheeks. "Thank you for...for _everything_. I love you."

And then he remembers drifting off.

He thinks of his family and feels a swell of pride. _Not bad for a kid who ran away to the circus_, he muses, a smile spreading across his face.

A pointed cough interrupts his thoughts and his head swivels toward the sound instantly. And then time feels like it comes to a complete standstill because it's _Natasha_ standing in front of him.

Natasha, who he'd lost so many years before.

Natasha, who'd broken his heart asking him to let her go and reassuring him it was okay.

Natasha, who had saved everyone with her final act...but who had been saving him long before then too.

Natasha, who had fought so damn hard to give him his family back...but in doing so had given up her own.

Within a second of seeing her, he's scrambling to get out of the hammock, limbs fighting against the twisting rope frantically. Three seconds and he's standing upright. Five seconds and he feels the tears well in his eyes.

"Tasha?" he breathes out, still not quite believing but yet still daring to hope that it's really her. It had been so damn long since he lost her - a lifetime, really - and the sight of her reminds him of the ache in his heart that had taken root all those years ago. Laura was the love of his life, but Natasha had understood him on a level no one else could. They had been through so much together, and losing her had meant that he had lost a part of himself as well. The loss of her had devastated him, and it had taken a long, long time to come to terms with it.

Her eyes are watery, mirroring his own, and her expression is gentle, showing him a mixture of hope, reassurance, and relief. "Yeah," she rasps, and the tone is so familiar that he wants to cry right there and then. "It's me."

Ten seconds after he first sees her, he's throwing his arms around her and holding her tighter than he's ever held someone. He feels her reciprocate the gesture, and knows that like him, she's pouring everything she hasn't been able to say since _that day_ into the embrace.

Worry flares in him even as he tries to reassure himself that she's not going to fade away or disappear on him. The nights in the weeks and months after her death had been filled with dreams and nightmares about her. They always ended with her fading from his view, leaving him reaching out for a hand that would never reach back.

"It's really you," he mumbles, pulling out of the embrace just far enough to hold her face in his hands for a moment before wrapping his arms back around her. "You're here. You're really here."

"More like _you're_ here," she corrects, her tone bittersweet.

"I don't care where," he says firmly as they finally break apart. "You're _here_."

She smiles, and he sees the emotion plain as day on her face. As much as this reunion of theirs means to him, he can't even begin to imagine what it means to her. He'd gotten back his family and had _decades_ with them, but she'd given up the only family she'd ever had.

"Well I guess this means I really did bite the dust, huh?" he quips, looking around at what he's surmised are the not-quite-earthly surroundings despite their familiar feel.

Some part of him wonders if he should be sad to have left behind his family. But he had lived a long life - far longer than he had ever thought possible for him, really - and had been ready at the end. It hadn't been a surprise, and he'd been given the chance to say goodbye to his family. His heart clenches suddenly as he realizes that's something Natasha never got.

"Don't be so flippant about it," she scolds, swatting at his arm even as a small smile curls on her lips betraying her façade. "But yes."

He grins unabashedly. "So this is the afterlife?"

"Yes and no. It's more of a place of transition."

His eyes widen as a thought takes hold. "Please tell me you haven't been stuck here all these years."

She smiles and shakes her head. "No, no, nothing like that," she reassures. "I managed to escape eternal damnation," she quips, her patented smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

He glares playfully, though there's a kernel of truth in it. "Now who's being flippant?"

Her glare back at him is more honest than playful and he holds up his hands in surrender, but he can't help the wide grin from spreading across his face. He's just so damn happy to see her.

"Souls come here to heal before they move on," she explains.

He glances down to catalogue anything that might need to heal, and instead realizes that he's much younger. He looks at her and notices that she looks roughly the same age as when she died. Her eyes are brighter though, he notices, and her hair is missing the swaths of blonde. Her shoulders don't look as though they're carrying the burden of a reddened ledger, and she looks more free than he can ever remember seeing her.

"I feel all right though," he says slowly, a frown creasing his brow.

"Maybe now," she answers with a small smile, "but the healing had already started before you woke up. In your case, you didn't have any traumatic injuries to recover from, so your healing process was a relatively smooth one."

His memories flick to the circumstances of her death. She had probably been left with a broken back, broken neck, and shattered skull, not to mention her limbs, and God only knows what internal injuries... "But yours wasn't, was it?"

She looks up at the sky, an unreadable expression on her face. "It wasn't so bad. I had Coulson to help me through it."

The lie is easy to spot, and he would've been able to spot it even _without_ the years of espionage training. But whether she's allowing him to see it or the afterlife has cracked away her masks, he doesn't know.

He feels the old familiar squeeze of his heart caused by guilt he could never quite shake away entirely. "I'm sorry, Nat," he says sadly.

Her gaze drops and she reaches over and gives his hand a firm squeeze. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Clint."

His head shakes. "I-"

"Nothing," she repeats, interrupting him. "It was my choice, and I would make it again. You guys got everyone back, and you all got to live out your lives. That's all I wanted."

He looks at her sadly. "You were supposed to get to live your life too."

She offers a gentle smile. "I did live, Clint. Every moment after you made that call to spare my life. I did some good, tried to be a better person, and found myself a family. I did live."

Clint feels the tears spilling from his eyes. She had been robbed of the chance to live in a world she had put everything into saving. And yet, he realizes as he scrutinizes her expression and her posture, she seems at peace about it all.

A soft sigh slips from his lips as he wipes away the tears. If she could make peace with it, then maybe with time - a lot of time - he could too.

"So how's this place work? Pearly gates? When bells ring do you get wings? Do all dogs really go to heaven? Is there a stairway?"

She shakes her head and swats at him again. "Good to know you haven't changed a bit."

"Hey, those were legitimate questions," he protests, slipping into their easy banter, even after years apart.

"Well I'm not dignifying them with answers."

"Then what are you doing here?"

"I'm your guide," she answers with a smirk.

"Guide?"

"Everyone gets a guide to help them heal and then lead them to the afterlife."

"You mean I could've had _anyone_ who's dead, and I got you?" he teases playfully.

She rolls her eyes. "I knew I should have called in my favour with Coulson and made him do this."

"You love me too much to do that, Tasha," he retorts with a grin, bumping her shoulder with his own.

"Shut up, you idiot," she replies, bumping his shoulder right back.

* * *

They didn't stay much longer, as Clint's minimal injuries had healed quickly and he became antsy to move on. Natasha had led him to the afterlife but he hadn't quite been ready to let her out of his sight, and so they found themselves at the Barton farm lying on a blanket and staring up at the stars.

"I'm a grandfather. Or, _was_ I guess."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He pauses, considering their situation. "Wait, shouldn't you know this? Don't you get observing privileges or something? Or is that not actually a thing?"

She is quiet for a moment before answering. "I watched some in the beginning. When I first got here, I mean. But…" she trails off, her gaze drifting away. She blows out a breath quickly. "It was overwhelming," she explains. "I could feel the emotions coming off of everyone in waves, and everything was still so fresh for me…"

Clint feels his heart clench as he understands. It had been too painful for her to see everyone alive.

"With time it got easier and I'd look in on you guys now and then. But once I knew you were safe, and starting to live again…"

"You stepped back," Clint finishes for her, understanding her reasoning exactly. She hadn't wanted to stay rooted in something she couldn't have anymore.

"Yeah. So I know some things...but definitely not everything."

"Well, let me catch you up then," he says. It comes out with a crack of emotion, despite his best efforts at keeping it light.

Her head tilts toward him and their gazes meet as a smile curls on her lips. "Please do."

"Right, well Cooper's an architect, and he's got two boys."

"I hope they inherited his mischievousness."

"You bet your ass they did," he replies with a laugh. "They keep him busy, that's for sure."

"A little taste of his own medicine," she replies as her smile widens.

Clint laughs again, remembering all the times Coop had tried to pull a fast one over Natasha. He'd never managed to succeed, but God help him he had certainly tried.

"And Lila?"

"She dabbled in some work for the new incarnation of SHIELD but ultimately ended up giving that up, and is a proud mom to a son and a daughter. And don't you worry, she got a taste of her own medicine too," he assures her, remembering all the times his daughter had managed to wear down the famed Black Widow with just a look.

Nat just smiles.

"She named her daughter after you," he says softly. His mind flickers to a memory of Lila handing him his granddaughter to hold, and telling him her name. His eyes had filled with tears at the gesture of love by his daughter for her aunt. "She told me later that as soon as she found out it was a girl she knew she was going to name her Natasha."

"I… I don't know what to say."

Clint reaches over and gives her hand a squeeze. "She loved you so much, Nat. We all did. Losing you…" he trails off and looks over to find her cheeks wet with tears.

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

"I don't think you get to apologize for saving the world."

Her laugh is brief, but his heart warms at the sound.

"God, I miss them," she breathes out. "I'm sorry I never got to see them grow up."

"Me too," he agrees, giving her hand another squeeze. Natasha had become a part of their family, and every time one of the kids hit a milestone, he felt a pang of sadness that she wasn't there to see it.

"It feels like just yesterday I was holding them as babies," she says wistfully.

"Believe me, I feel the same way."

He hears her let out a shaky breath. "And what about Nathaniel?"

"Ah yes, your first namesake. He's got 3 dogs. Says he has no interest in having kids, being an uncle is time consuming enough."

She barks out a laugh. "He's right about that. Being an aunt was exhausting."

"Oh, don't even start. You loved it."

"When they weren't puking on me, sure."

It's Clint who laughs this time.

"So you've got grandchildren and _granddogs_?" she teases.

"You're damn right, I do," he answers proudly.

She bumps his knee with hers. "Old man."

"That's not fair," he replies with a frown. "I can't even call you an old hag."

She laughs. "I guess dying had at least one perk - not having to deal with old age."

He frowns at her words. They are light and very much a part of their banter...but they also remind Clint again of what she'd given up.

"Hey." Her voice startles him out of his thoughts. He turns and finds her looking at him with the slightest of frowns. "Don't do that. I meant what I said - it was my choice and I would make it again. What I wanted was for everyone to get their loved ones back. For everyone to live their lives."

"Doesn't mean I can't be sad that you didn't get to be there."

"I suppose. But it's kind of a moot point now, isn't it?"

They fall into silence then, each content to just be with the other after so many years apart.

"Oh," he says suddenly. "I'm supposed to tell you how much Laura's missed you, and I'm supposed to give you a hug from her."

Nat smiles again wistfully. "I've missed her too. Getting to have her as a friend was almost worth putting up with you," she adds with a teasing grin.

He opens his mouth to respond but is interrupted by another voice.

"I want to be very clear - practical jokes and/or pranks of any variety are strictly forbidden here."

Nat laughs and Clint sits up to find the source of the voice. His eyes widen at the sight of their old handler and close friend.

"Phil!"

"I mean it, Barton. Forbidden."

"Sounds like a rule that's more of a guideline to me."

"Natasha," Phil implores, "back me up here, would you?"

She holds up her hands. "Nope. I didn't wade into your ongoing war while we were alive and I'm definitely not going to now that we're dead. I am leaving you two to sort that out by yourselves."

Phil stares at her with a disappointed expression that she easily counters with a smirk.

Clint grins widely as he gives Phil a tight hug. "So, does this place have good pizza? And I mean proper so-greasy-it-is-the-foundation-of-instant-regrets pizza."

Phil shares a knowing smile with Natasha that Clint easily identifies as their 'typical Clint' expression. "I know a place," he says and then begins to walk towards the road.

Clint throws an arm around Natasha's shoulders as they begin to follow Phil. "God I've missed you, Nat," he says as he pulls her close to him.

"I missed you too," she says with a smirk before shoving him and laughing as he struggles to keep his balance.

Clint grins widely as a laugh bubbles out of him as well. Just as he goes in to shove her back, Phil's voice calls out from ahead of them.

"Don't start!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I adore the friendship between these two, and delving into the depths of what surely would have been overwhelming grief and guilt for him was too intriguing to let go.
> 
> Any thoughts, comments, and/or feedback, are appreciated...


	6. Well...Your Aunt Nat...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lila has overflowing emotions, questions, and a head full of memories after her parents tell her about Nat's death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a companion piece of sorts to the last chapter.   
it was definitely tough to write, and it hits in the feels for sure, but not something I felt I could ignore.
> 
> enjoy.

"Lila, Coop…. Can you two come out here a second?"

Lila looks up and shares a confused frown with her brother because she can't place exactly what it is, but there's something about her mother's voice that seems..._off_. Her eyebrows rise in a silent question, but Cooper just shrugs in response and gets up to head out the back door. Lila gives one last look at her younger brother who is happily watching cartoons before following Cooper out the door.

"What is it?" she asks, eyes flitting between her parents as she finds them at the picnic table out back. She doesn't miss the haggard look on their faces, and she exchanges another worried glance with her brother.

"Have a seat," Clint says, gesturing to the opposite side of the picnic table.

"What's going on?" Cooper asks, hesitating before he makes a move to sit down.

"Coop," Clint sighs, "just sit."

"Please," Laura adds with a small smile that is probably meant to be comforting, but when mixed with the look in her eyes is only cause for worry.

Lila's stomach begins churning because now she's certain that whatever they're about to tell them is not good.

"Now, first," Laura starts, taking a moment to look each of them in the eye, "don't tell your brother any of this, okay? He's still a bit young, and we need to… We'll tell him, okay?"

Lila's frown deepens, but she nods and sees her brother do the same.

"There are a few things you should know about the, uh, last little while," Clint says.

"What d'you mean, Dad?" Cooper interjects with a deep frown on his face.

"Well for one thing, the year is 2023."

Cooper and Lila share a look of confusion. "What?" they say in unison.

"I know, it sounds insane. But what's the last thing you remember before I got back?"

"You were teaching me to use the bow...and we were about to have lunch…"

"And then?" Clint prompts.

Lila frowns again. "And then...then I woke up and you weren't there."

Clint nods. "And you, Coop?"

He shrugs. "The same mostly. I was playing catch with Nate, and then I woke up."

"That was five years ago. Don't believe me? Check your phones."

Lila glances over at Cooper who is staring at his phone in confusion.

"Five years?" he croaks out. "How?"

"This is where things start to get a bit crazy."

"_This_ is where it gets crazy?!" Cooper says, eyes wide and unbelieving.

"I know it sounds like it's straight out of a hollywood movie, but it gets weirder. You guys were part of the half of the universe that was, uh, wiped out temporarily."

"Wiped out?" Cooper echoes, and Lila is grateful for his responses because she has the exact same disbelief, but can't find her voice.

"Turned to dust, specifically."

"Dad…"

"It's true, Coop," Laura says, reaching over to squeeze her son's hand. "I know it sounds crazy, but it's true."

"So why are we back?" Cooper asks. "What happened?"

"Well, to make a very long story short, the Avengers managed to find a way to get everyone back," Clint explains.

"How?" Lila asks, finally finding her voice.

"The exact details of how is not important right now," he says with a dismissive wave of his hands. "But there was a battle, and we...we won."

"Okay..." Lila says, the syllables stretching out in her confusion. "So, everything is back to normal now? Or…?"

"Well uh- Not quite normal, no. In the, uh, lead up to- Well-"

Lila sees her mom squeeze her dad's hand tightly, and her stomach drops. Because if her dad is struggling with telling them this, that can only mean that something _really_ bad happened.

"Dad..." Lila says softly. "What is it?"

Clint clears his throat and looks up at the sky for a moment before his gaze drops back down. "Well, your Aunt Nat…"

Lila's eyes go wide as she begins to put the pieces together. "No," she says with a shake of her head.

"She-"

"NO!" Lila says, tears filling her eyes.

"Lila," Laura says softly, reaching a hand out. Lila looks up and sees the tears in her mother's eyes through her own and shakes her head in denial. She jerks back and pulls her hands away.

"What did she do?" Cooper asks quietly. Lila glances at him only briefly, long enough to see his jaw clench in a telltale sign of him trying to keep his emotions in check.

Clint's gaze drops to his hands in front of him before his eyes shut, and Laura squeezes his arm. "She sacrificed herself so that we could get you guys and everybody else back," he manages to get out.

"No," Lila whispers as her head tips down and she wraps her arms around herself. "No, no, no..."

"We know this is hard to hear," Laura says through her tears. "But we wanted to tell you before you heard it somewhere else."

And then it occurs to Lila that while she had been dead, or dusted, or _whatever the hell she was, _she was now back and very much alive. So if they could bring her back, then why couldn't they could bring Aunt Nat back too?

"You brought everyone else back, bring her back too," Lila says stubbornly, eyes rising to meet Clint's gaze. "Bring. Her. Back!"

"I wish I could, sweetheart," Clint says softly. "Believe me, we tried, but it can't be undone."

Lila glares at her father and then gets up abruptly, feeling an overwhelming need to run. She sprints away from the house, not knowing or caring what direction she's heading. She can hear her parents' yells behind her, but she doesn't care. She just keeps running, and running, and running.

She runs until it feels like her lungs are going to burst, and the tears have blurred her vision so badly she can't tell what's in front of her. Her legs feel like jelly as she falls, her knees slamming painfully against the ground. She wipes the tears from her eyes and looks around, finding herself at the base of a large tree near the edge of their property. Still breathing harshly, she sits back against the tree to rest, but without anything else to focus on, her mind begins to hone in on the very anguish she'd been trying to outrun.

_She can't be gone. She's Aunt Nat. Dad always jokes she's too stubborn to die... She can't be gone. She can't be. She can't be._

Lila turns to the side quickly as she's hit with the urge to vomit. Everything blurs again as she begins to heave, her mind throwing memories of her aunt at her relentlessly from over the years.

* * *

_Her parents had warned her that Auntie Nat had to work, and they weren't sure if she would be able to be at her recital...but Lila knew she'd be there. She'd pinky promised that she would do everything she could to be there, and Lila knew that 'everything she could' meant she would be there. She just knew it._

_She tries to peek around the curtain to see, but her teacher spots her and ushers her back to the group._

_"Ready, girls?" her teacher asks, flashing a bright smile._

_"Yeah!" they chorus back, and then begin to get ready to go on stage._

_She can't help but scan the crowd once they're on stage, and she panics when she can't find her parents or Aunt Nat. But then she remembers the advice Aunt Nat had given her at her birthday party a few weeks back._

_"You'll be fine!" she had said. "Just relax, and don't worry about what you can't control. Besides, you only get to be a part of the 5-Year-Olds recital once, so have some fun," she'd finished with a wink._

_Her teacher begins to lead them and Lila forgets all about her worries and starts dancing instead._

_They finish a few minutes later and the audience gives them a loud cheer and a round of applause, and it's then that Lila spots her parents in a section to the left. She doesn't see Auntie Nat with them, so she keeps looking and finally spots her at the back, leaning against the doorway._

_Auntie Nat flashes her a wide smile and gives her two thumbs up when their gazes meet. Lila feels her heart swell and she skips off the stage with her classmates, feeling like a million bucks._

_Just a short while later she's meeting up with her family in front of the stage._

_"Auntie Nat! You made it!" Lila cries as she jumps up into her arms._

_"Of course I did, Lila. I pinky promised."_

_"Mom and Dad said you had to work," she says, shooting an unimpressed look to her parents._

_Nat shrugs and grins. "I made it work."_

_"Oh really?" Clint says doubtfully._

_"Yep," she replies. "Just told the bad guys I had a ballet recital to get to," she says with a knowing grin, "they made things real easy for me then."_

_"I told you she'd be here!" Lila says with a wide smile as she gives her aunt a tight hug._

* * *

_The whole Avengers team had come home with her father and she had been excited to meet them all, but Lila could tell something was 'off' with her aunt. Nat had scooped her up into her arms and hugged her tightly, just like always, but still she could tell there was something going on..._

_By the time dinner rolled around, Lila still hadn't figured out what was wrong, and she hadn't really had a chance to spend any time with her aunt. So when her mom asked her to let Nat know dinner was almost ready, Lila jumped at the chance and headed out the back door in search of her aunt._

_It takes her a few minutes, but eventually she spots Nat sitting in one of the wooden chairs out by the fire pit._

_"Auntie Nat?" she calls out shyly as she approaches her from behind._

_Nat turns around and offers a small smile. "Myshka, what are you doing out here?"_

_Lila grins at the nickname. "Looking for you. Mom says dinner's almost ready."_

_"Oh, thanks. I'll be there in a few minutes then."_

_Lila shifts her weight from one foot to the other as she chews her lip._

_"What's wrong, Lila?" Nat asks, a frown creasing her brow in concern._

_She takes a deep breath and decides to be brave. "Are you okay?"_

_Nat offers a sad smile. "C'mere," she says, waving her over. Lila obliges and makes her way to stand in front of her aunt, where she is scooped up onto Nat's lap and held tightly in her arms._

_"Daddy said you got hurt," Lila says, tipping her head up so she can see her aunt's face._

_Nat nods. "I did."_

_"Are you okay?" she repeats the question from earlier._

_"I will be," Nat answers after a moment._

_"Can I help?" Lila asks, looking up at her aunt with wide, caring eyes._

_"You already are."_

_"I am?"_

_Nat nods. "Lila hugs are the best," she says with a small smile._

_"Auntie Nat hugs are the best," Lila counters with a grin._

_"Well I can't hug myself," Nat says with a soft chuckle. "So I have to get my hugs from somewhere else."_

_Lila giggles in response to her aunt's tickling before throwing her arms around Nat tightly. "I love you, Auntie Nat," she whispers._

_Lila hears Nat breathe in sharply and then feels herself being held even tighter. "Thank you, myshka," Nat whispers back._

* * *

_Lila coughs harshly as she turns over in her bed for what feels like the millionth time. She can hear faint voices from downstairs, where her mom and Auntie Nat are talking._

_"Poor kid came down with a nasty cough a few days ago."_

_"That sucks. Think she got it from school?"_

_"Most likely. She's been absolutely miserable, and keeps asking for Clint."_

_"I tried to get a hold of him, but he's-"_

_"It's okay. I know."_

_"Any way I can help?"_

_"Maybe. I'm sure a visit from her favourite aunt will lift her spirits."_

_"Is she awake?"_

_"Probably. The cough has been keeping her up."_

_"She due for any medication?"_

_"Actually, yeah. Now that you mention it, she's due for another dose of the cough syrup. Here, two spoonfuls."_

_"Got it. Go get some sleep, Laura. I can tell you haven't been sleeping well either. I'll clean up down here after Lila settles."_

_"Thanks, Nat. I'll head up in a little bit."_

_She expects to hear footsteps on the stairs, or in the hallway, but it's eerily silent. Suddenly her door is opening and it's only then that she remembers how quiet her aunt can be._

_Lila sits up and opens her mouth to say hello, but starts coughing instead. The fit lingers longer than the previous ones and tears start to form in her eyes from the force of coughing._

_Auntie Nat doesn't say anything but she sits down next to Lila and begins to rub her back gently. After another minute, the coughing begins to slow and Lila leans into her aunt tiredly._

_"Heard you weren't feeling great," Nat says with the slightest tilt of her head and a sad smile as she wraps an arm around her._

_Lila's lower lip trembles as more tears fall and she presses further into her aunt's side, seeking comfort._

_"Here, time for some more medicine."_

_Lila scowls and presses her face stubbornly into her aunt's shirt. "I don't like it."_

_Nat chuckles. "Nobody ever does, but if you want to stop coughing and get some sleep you need to take it."_

_She scowls again but nods and lets her aunt pour out the syrup. It tastes disgusting, and she can't help grimacing._

_"That should start to work soon, but in the meantime let's get you tucked in again," Nat says, pulling back the covers and gesturing for Lila to crawl back in._

_Lila nods and then scoots back under the covers. Nat tucks her in snugly and then strokes her cheek a few times._

_"Auntie Nat?"_

_"Mm?" she hums in reply._

_"Can you stay with me?" Lila asks hopefully. "Until I fall asleep," she adds after a beat._

_"Sure, myshka," Nat replies softly. "But you have to close your eyes before you can fall asleep," she adds with a smile._

_"Can you tell me a story?"_

_Nat's brow arches. "I thought you were going to try to sleep."_

_"Can't sleep without a story," Lila explains. "Pleeeease?" she adds, eyes wide and hopeful._

_"You drive a hard bargain, Miss Barton," Nat says with a shake of her head. "Fine, what kind of story?"_

_"How you and Daddy met!"_

_Nat sighs. "Again?"_

_"But it's the best one!"_

_"If you say so."_

_"Daddy says so too."_

_"Oh, he does, does he?"_

_Lila nods with a grin._

_"Well if it's the best story then I suppose I have to..."_

_Lila grins again and then wiggles a little more to snuggle even further under the covers._

_"Okay, once upon a time..."_

* * *

_"Aunt Nat?" Lila says as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, and wrings her hands together nervously._

_Nat turns around, brows rising in a silent answer._

_"Can I ask you something?"_

_"Sure."_

_"I, um... I read some stuff online..."_

_Nat's expression stays carefully blank, and she remains silent, her gaze unwavering. "What kind of stuff? You know you're not supposed to be on the computer without one of your parents."_

_"Yeah, I know. But um, I, um, I was wondering..."_

_Nat offers a small smile of reassurance, and Lila takes a deep breath._

_"Were you really one of the bad guys?"_

_Nat's expression falls and she lets out a soft sigh. "Many, many years ago, yes."_

_Lila's eyes widen at the confirmation. She couldn't imagine any of the crap that the people on TV spewed or any of the stuff the kids at school were saying about her aunt were true, and yet..._

_"I was raised to believe what I was doing was good, and that it was all to make the world better."_

_"But-" Lila tries to interject, but Nat keeps speaking._

_"When your Dad and I met, he managed to help convince me that I was looking at things all wrong and that I didn't have to listen to the people who had raised me anymore."_

_"And then you and him became partners, and you became my Aunt Nat?"_

_Nat nods. "Eventually, yes."_

_Lila tilts her head, trying to wrap her brain around things. "Does that mean you're a bad person?" she asks._

_Nat is quiet for a moment. "Well I try my best to be good, and to try and make up for what I did."_

_"So you're a good person?"_

_She pauses for a moment. "I'm trying very hard to be."_

* * *

Lila swipes at the tears making their way down her cheeks as she gulps in big, shuddering breaths. She hears the tentative steps behind her and she lets out a shaky sigh.

"Lila..."

She doesn't have the strength to fight with her dad anymore and so she gives up, letting him approach without any argument.

"Mind if I join you?" he asks. She shrugs and he sits down next to her. "Wanna tell me what's going on in your mind, sweetheart? It's not healthy to keep it bottled up."

"I hadn't seen her in months," Lila mumbles after a prolonged moment of silence.

Clint nods. "She didn't want to compromise your safety, otherwise she would have visited."

"She was with Captain America, right?" Clint nods. "How come you weren't with them?" she asks, even though she knows the answer. He'd explained it to her and Cooper not long after he came home with the ankle monitor.

"Because I wanted to be here with you guys. I'd been away for long enough then, and I figured staying together with our family was more important."

"More important than being an Avenger?"

Clint sighs. "Yes. And besides, the team was a bit...fractured then. Not sure there really was an Avengers at that point..."

Lila's eyebrows rise. That is news to her. There were murmurs of a fight in the Avengers team, but she had dismissed it as gossip, figuring her dad would tell her if anything had happened. And besides, there was no way he and Aunt Nat would be on opposite sides...

"That's a story for another day, I think," he says with a dismissive wave of his hands. "But the point is, I decided to stay here."

"Why didn't Aunt Nat stay too?"

"I don't know if I can answer that one for you, sweetheart. But I think she probably felt she should keep working."

They fall into silence again, and Lila lets her body melt into the familiarity of her father's arms. But even as she begins to relax, her mind is racing with questions.

_How hard is this for Dad?_

_When did Aunt Nat die? How did she die? Where did she die? Who was with her? Or was she alone? Was it painful? Did she know ahead of time?_

_What had she been doing for those five missed years?_

_Was there a funeral? Did she get buried somewhere? Can I go visit her grave?_

Lila sighs heavily, trying to turn off her mind for just a minute before the thoughts completely overwhelm her. She tries to think back to the last time she saw her aunt, but finds she can't place it. It was probably a quick visit, or maybe a video call, but she can't remember it, and she feels sick all over again. Her Aunt Nat had been such a huge part of her life and she can't even remember the last time she had seen her.

"Hey, I can hear the gears grinding. What're you thinking?" Clint asks softly.

"I don't remember the last time I saw her," she says sadly, sniffling as more tears form. "Or what the last thing I said to her was."

He stays quiet, sensing his daughter has more to say.

"I shoulda told her- I don't think I told her that I loved her often enough."

"She knew, Lila. And she loved you so much. It's why she fought so hard for those five years. She was trying to find a way to get you back. She never gave up."

"But she's not here," Lila counters, her lower lip trembling again. "She's supposed to be here. She was gonna let me drive her car when I got my licence. And she-"

Clint wraps an arm around her and pulls her tightly to his side. "I know, sweetheart. And I know it hurts, believe me, I'm hurting too."

"Did it- Was she-" Lila begins, but then cuts herself off abruptly, unsure of _how_ to ask. And if she even _wants _to know, for that matter... She takes a deep breath. "Was it painful for her?"

Clint sucks in a sharp breath and then exhales it shakily. "No," he answers, shaking his head. "No, it was quick."

Lila nods, but the answer doesn't give her any comfort. "Was she alone?" she asks, needing to know. She didn't want to imagine her aunt dying all alone. She didn't want to think of her having no one to remind her they loved her, and no one to comfort her.

Clint shakes his head again. "I was with her."

Lila feels more tears escape because again, the answer doesn't bring any comfort. She licks her lips. "Was she scared?" She can't even imagine the fear that she herself would feel if she knew she was about to die.

Clint is quiet for a moment before answering. "I- I don't know. Maybe," he answers softly. He sighs. "But she had made up her mind. She was going to save me, and save everyone else, and nothing was going to change her mind," he adds thoughtfully.

Lila stays silent as she processes her dad's words. _She wasn't alone. It didn't hurt. She chose to do it to save everyone._

"She was a hero."

"You're damn right she was," he answers firmly. "She was the bravest person I've ever known, and she fought so hard to do the right thing."

"I miss her," Lila whispers shakily, feeling the grief ramp up again. "I miss her so much."

"Me too, Lila. Me too."

* * *

_"She's beautiful, Lila," Clint says softly as he stares down at his granddaughter. "Absolutely gorgeous."_

_Lila smiles tiredly, feeling aches swell with even the smallest movements. "You think?"_

_Clint glances up and smiles. "Oh, yeah. No question."_

_"Thanks."_

_"You guys settle on a name yet?"_

_Lila smiles and feels the tears gather in her eyes. "Yeah. We've known for awhile, actually."_

_"Oh?" he says as he looks up, recognizing the emotion trembling in his daughter's voice. He looks down again when a little whimper draws his attention back to the bundle in his arms._

_"Natasha," she whispers._

_Clint's head snaps up and meets his daughter's gaze. "Li..." he whispers in reply, tears pooling in his eyes. "That's- She would-" He stops and shakes his head a little, lips pressing together tightly to hold in the emotion._

_"I know," she says with a nod, not bothering to hide the tears dripping down her face. "She was- She was important to me and I wanted to honour her."_

_Clint is quiet as he holds his daughter's watery gaze. Lila can see how much it means to him to have his best friend's name given to his granddaughter. It's been years and years since they lost her, but some days it still feels as fresh as it did all those years ago._

_"She would be so proud of you, kid," he finally says softly. "The person you've become...she would be so damn proud."_

_Lila smiles and fruitlessly wipes the tears from her cheeks, even as fresh ones take their place._

_"Hi, Natasha," he whispers, looking down at the bundle in his arms. "You don't know it yet, but you were named for the bravest woman I've ever known. She was a hero, and she did so many amazing things in this world..." he trails off, emotion choking him. "And I know you're gonna do great things too."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did ya reach for the tissues? Love the flashbacks? Hate 'em?  
thoughts and comments are welcomed, if you are so inclined.
> 
> more to come...


	7. A Career Out of Defying the Odds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony tries to come to grips with losing his teammate, reaches out to Pepper for a steadying voice, and remembers a moment or two from those five years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because the relationship between Tony and Natasha was all sorts of complicated...
> 
> enjoy.

"Clint, where's Nat?"

Tony's eyes flick briefly to the empty spot between Steve and Clint and a frown creases his brow. His gaze then shifts to Clint, and there he finds haunted eyes on a man drowning in grief. He watches the archer fall to his knees and look up to meet Bruce's gaze. And it's then that Tony _knows_.

Knows, but can't believe.

Because she's Natasha Romanoff, and Natasha Romanoff had made a career out of defying the odds.

Because she had faced men and aliens and robots two and three times her size, and hadn't blinked as she took them down. And those were just the ones he _knew_ about.

Because she'd looked Death in the eye time and time again, and told Death to fuck off.

Because she had been asked over and over to accomplish the impossible, and had done it every single time, even when no one else could.

Because she's _Natasha. fucking. Romanoff_ and she would never, and could never be taken down by something as tiny as a goddamned stone.

But as he sees Clint fight a losing battle against breaking down completely, he knows she's gone. Knows that she'd helped them to achieve the impossible one last time. Knows that without her, all of it would have been for nothing.

For the briefest of seconds, Tony's thoughts turn to Pepper and Morgan, and he feels intense relief that he hadn't been forced to make a sacrifice play, and that he'd come back from the past unharmed. But then Nat's face flashes in his memory and he feels like he has to throw up, because while he might be back and safe, she was _gone_.

Bruce slams his fist down and Tony thinks, not for the first time in his life, about the cost of being a hero.

* * *

"Fri?" Tony murmurs as he steps out the door and walks toward a bench overlooking part of the Compound's green space. "Connect me with Ms Potts, would you?"

"Sure thing, boss." The reply comes instantly, and the tone is softer than usual, as though Friday knows the gravity of the situation.

A part of him feels guilty for slipping away, and for being unable to think of doing anything but making sure his family is okay. But he _has_ to hear Pep's voice. Losing Nat has left him shaken, and he _has _to know that his foundation is still there.

He takes a seat on the bench, his eyes closing as he listens to the rings of the connecting call.

"Tony?"

The exhale of relief slips out before he can say anything. Her voice is as strong and smooth as ever, but he swears he can hear the tiniest little crack of worry in between the syllables.

"Hey, Pep."

"Are you alright?" she asks softly.

"Yeah, I'm okay." His tone lacks reassurance, even to his own ears.

"Really?" She's skeptical, and he's not surprised - she has always been able to read him.

"I got back in one piece, Scout's honour," he replies.

"You were never a Boy Scout," she points out gently, the barest hint of a tease threaded through her tone.

"I think I gave them enough money over the years to gain honourary status."

She chuckles faintly, but it's far from a full laugh. "I suppose so."

He blows out a breath shakily. "We did it, Pep. We actually did it. We got 'em all."

She is quiet for a moment before she responds, and he knows she is choosing her words carefully, just as she always does. "So you can bring everybody back?"

"Well, that's the plan."

Another pause. "Tony…"

"Is Morgan okay?" he asks suddenly, images of his little girl filling his mind. It's selfish, but he wants reassurance that he hasn't lost anyone else.

"Yeah…" Pepper's response is slow and drawn out as she no doubt tries to work out the reasons behind his behaviour. "She's fine."

"Good. That's good," he replies needlessly, empty words to fill the silence.

"Tony…" Pepper says, her tone softer now. "What's wrong?"

His head tips forward into his hands as he lets out another shaky exhale.. He swallows in an effort to rid himself of the lump of emotion in his throat, but it stays put.

"We lost Nat."

It comes out as a pained whisper, and there's a soft but sharp inhale on the other end of the call.

"I'm so sorry, Tony."

Another exhale. "I know she and I had our moments, but…"

"She was your friend," Pepper supplies.

"Yeah," he agrees. A memory of Nat suddenly pops up in his mind. "Do you remember when she came over to visit after Morgan was born?"

"She'd sent over that beautiful hand carved music box as a gift, right?"

"Yeah," he says with a nod she can't see. "I don't think I'd said two words to her since I'd gotten back from my little adventure into space, and if I did, I'm pretty sure they weren't to pay her a compliment...but she still got a gift for Morgan."

Pepper stays quiet, and Tony knows she understands that by talking he's working through his emotions.

"I was so shocked when Rhodey handed the gift bag to me and told me it was from her. And then I opened it and read the note."

** _Tony,_ **

** _Rhodey tells me congratulations are in order, so congratulations!_ **

** _I bet Pepper is ecstatic to have another heavy hitter on her side in the war to wrangle some control over you. For Pepper's sake, I hope she didn't inherit your ego._ **

** _Having gotten the chance to know both of you, I have no doubt this little one will grow up to be extraordinary in ways we can't even imagine._ **

** _Wishing you both the best on your adventure into parenthood._ **

** _Nat_ **

"And you felt guilty for pushing her away," Pepper chimes in softly.

"I felt guilty for a lot of things," he corrects, remembering the accusations and pointed verbal barbs he had sent her way during the whole Accords situation.

Time had gifted him perspective on it, and he had come to realize that she had been trying to find the solution that would let them stay together. He had tried one way, and Rogers was too principled to waver from his beliefs - and so they'd become stuck on two sides of the same coin. Both trying to do what was right, but from opposing ends. And Nat had been squarely in the middle. She'd tried to find a middle ground, but between himself and Rogers they'd fractured it so beyond belief that she'd been left to fend for herself.

"But you invited her over to visit."

His mind drifts to the memory, remembering it as though it were only yesterday instead of years before.

* * *

_"Tony?"_

Her voice is the epitome of confusion. But then it's been months, maybe years since they last spoke more than two words to each other...so perhaps it's not so strange for her to be hesitant at his call.

"Hey, Red."

_"Hey. Everything okay?"_

"Yeah, things are fine. I mean, Pepper and I haven't slept in...God, I don't even know how long, but otherwise things are good."

_"Good."_

"So listen, Rhodey dropped off your gift."

_She is quiet for a moment. "Mmhmm…"_

"And I think you should come visit the little bambina."

_"Tony, I don't want to intru-"_

"You're not. I'm inviting you. By definition that means you wouldn't be intruding."

_Another pause. "I don't think I can get away-"_

"Bullshit. You can. There's nothing that pressing that you can't afford to miss."

_"Tony, someone has to-"_

He sighs, interrupting her again. "Just have Friday monitor the channels for you and send any urgent updates straight to your Starkphone."

_"I don't have a Starkphone."_

"Shit. Right, you probably ditched that when you went on the run with Rogers."

_"You know I had to."_

"Yeah, yeah," he dismisses, not keen to let his mind wander back to those times again. "I have a few new prototypes here at the house. I'll set one up for you, and hook it into the Compound's servers as well."

_"You don't have to-"_

"Jesus, Nat!" he says, his voice rising in frustration as his temper flares. He breathes a calming breath before continuing, this time softer. "I want to, okay? I may not be on the team anymore, but I can still do this."

_A pregnant pause. "Thank you, Tony."_

"You're welcome. Now when can we expect you?"

_"How's Thursday? Around 2?"_

"Make it 12. Come for lunch."

* * *

She had come over, as promised, arriving promptly just before 12. He remembered answering the door and finding Nat to be the very definition of uncertain. Gone was the seemingly always present confident swagger he'd come to associate with her. Gone was that twinkle in her eyes and half smirk she always seemed to have, as though preparing to deliver another teasing quip to him.

This, combined with the tension of seeing her again after having not necessarily put the Accords conflict between them fully to rest, made for an awkward reunion.

Their smiles had been strained as they stared at each other for what had felt like an impossibly long minute. And then Pepper, god bless her, had swept past the door and called out "God, Tony. Don't leave her out there. Come on in, Nat!"

The tension had relaxed after that, with Pepper and Morgan serving as invaluable buffers. They'd finished lunch, and Pepper had excused herself to grab a quick nap while she could, leaving just the two of them with Morgan.

* * *

"_God, Tony. She's beautiful," Nat says, her gaze fixed on the tiny bundle in her arms._

"_I know," he answers with a smile. "Never thought I'd be the type to have a kid, but...she's here and god help me but I'm doing this dad thing now."_

_Nat looks up and smiles. "You're gonna be a great dad."_

_Tony's eyebrows rise in surprise. "You think?"_

_She nods as her gaze drops back down to Morgan. "You care so much for the people you love. She doesn't know it yet, but she's so lucky to have you as a dad."_

_Tony stares at Natasha, realizing maybe for the first time how gentle she can be. Raised in the most hellish of environments, forced to kill for years before she somehow managed to break away, and then left behind as the only family she'd ever known was ripped away from her. All of that, and she still had the capacity to be kind and gentle._

"_I'm happy for you, Tony," she says quietly, looking up and meeting his gaze again._

_Honesty was not something he might have associated with her years ago, but after everything they've been through, he knows she won't lie to him._

_But it's then that he notices the dark rings under her eyes that the carefully applied makeup can't quite cover, and the bruises on her knuckles that her long shirt sleeves don't hide. Late nights punctuated with nightmares and too many rounds with the punching bag, he diagnoses._

_His gaze drifts to her eyes and he notices they are filled with pain and an emptiness that he knows all too well. He doesn't know what makes him do it, but for some reason he decides to wade into it. "How you doing, Red?"_

_A smile curls on her lips, but it's far from genuine and far from convincing. "Oh, you know. Keeping afloat."_

_He frowns. "Nat…"_

_She looks back down at Morgan who has now begun to squirm just a little. He watches as Nat expertly rearranges her hold before standing up and then beginning to sway gently. The effect on Morgan is almost instantaneous as her eyes fall shut and she settles back into sleep. He'd thought there was nothing left about Natasha to surprise him...and yet finding she is something of a baby whisperer leaves his eyes slightly wide._

_He blinks away his shock, and refocuses. Perhaps a different tactic. "How's Steve?"_

_Her eyebrow arches doubtfully. "You really wanna know?"_

_He shrugs. "I asked, didn't I?"_

"_He's moved back to Brooklyn."_

_Tony blinks in surprise. He hadn't expected that._

"_He's running some support groups. It's good for him to connect with people. Makes him feel useful, I think."_

"_And Bruce?"_

_She shrugs. "Haven't heard from him in a few months. Not since he left for his project."_

_Steve gone, Bruce gone, Clint AWOL, Thor across the pond in New Asgard…and he was out of the game. She was alone. Utterly and completely alone. And he knew from experience just how big and quiet the Compound was when it was empty..._

"_Thanks for inviting me, Tony."_

"_Anytime, Red. You're welcome here anytime. Got it? In fact, let's make this a weekly thing. I'm betting Pep will jump at the chance to have an actual adult to talk to."_

_Nat smiles, and he realizes that she knows exactly where his mind had gone. "It's okay, Tony. I'm alright. But thank you."_

_He blinks. "Nat-"_

"_It's okay," she says, handing his daughter back to him and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Tell Pepper thanks for lunch, and give her my best."_

"_Nat," he repeats, watching as she turns and heads toward the door. "You ever need anything, you let me know, okay? I mean it - absolutely anything."_

_She smiles and tilts her head thoughtfully. "I spent a bunch of time at Clint's place when Cooper and Lila were babies." A pause, and a lick of her lips as she hesitates. "You ever need advice, let me know."_

_He returns the smile and can't help but lob it back. "Baby advice from a master assassin. Who woulda thunk it."_

_Another smile curls on her lips, this one a touch larger than the previous ones. "I think we can both agree that given the people we know and the things we've seen...nothing is strange anymore."_

_He smiles and watches as she slips out the door, a soft click of the door the only sound announcing her departure._

* * *

Tony shakes the memory from his head as he realizes that he's been quiet for awhile now. He can hear Pepper's soft breaths, so he knows she hasn't hung up and is grateful for that.

"She gave up her life so we could get the goddamned stone," he says, spitting the words out in anger. He hesitates for a beat and the anger dissipates as anxiety takes its place. "What if it doesn't work? What if this was all for nothing? What if she died for nothing?" he asks softly.

"You won't know until you try," she offers gently, and even though they are a cliché, he appreciates hearing the words. "She sacrificed herself to give you guys a chance to fix this. Honour that."

"Yeah," he says, his voice cracking.

"I love you."

He feels his eyes fill, from guilt and grief and emotions he can't name. "I love you too, Pep."

The call disconnects and he lets out a heavy sigh.

"Tony?"

He looks up and finds Bruce leaning out the doorway. His voice is strained, and Tony remembers once upon a time when he and Nat had been...well..._whatever_ they had been.

"We, uh- Well, Steve thought we should…"

He's used to Bruce's scattered mind and occasionally bumbling speech patterns, but this is scattered for a whole _other_ reason, and Tony feels his gut begin to churn uncomfortably.

"We're gonna head down to the lake," he finally manages. "Maybe...talk about…her..."

Tony sighs as he understands what Bruce is getting at. It's not really a funeral and not really a memorial, because there are so many people who aren't here and _should be_ for that. But it's all they can do. It's the goddamn _least_ they can do.

"Yeah," he replies. "I'm just gonna change and I'll be right there."

Bruce nods and then disappears from his view, leaving Tony alone once more. He closes his eyes as he tries to find the strength to keep it together, because Thor's already shaken, Bruce is clearly struggling, Steve is wracked with guilt, and Clint just lost his best friend and the woman who'd been a part of the Barton family for _years_.

Natasha had always been the one to keep them together, even when all everyone had wanted to do was disappear. Losing her hurts, yes..._God it hurts_, but Tony can do this for them. He can keep it together so they can have a moment to fall apart. And so with a heavy exhale he stands up. _I can do this_, he thinks. _I can do this for Nat._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In a surprising twist, Tony has proven to be the one that keeps popping into my head for little conversations and moments.
> 
> As always, thoughts, comments, and feedback are appreciated. Always good to know what folks are thinking.
> 
> More to come...


	8. Just Natasha is Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor wants to honour a fallen friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because I'm sad we didn't get to see them interact more.
> 
> (artistic liberties taken, because I don't pretend to understand how time travel works. as we say in my family...just suspend judgment and be entertained.)
> 
> enjoy.

"I want to go to Vormir," Thor says quietly.

"You wanna what?!" Rocket exclaims. "Why?"

"Natasha's body may still be there. She deserves to be laid to rest in the custom of her people."

"Uh, that's a nice thought," Rocket replies as gently as he can, "but isn't that in a completely different timeline?" Thor just stares and Rocket sighs. "Okay, even if it is there...it would've been there for almost ten years…"

"And?"

"And even if Vormir's just a desolate rock, there's probably not a whole lot left…"

"She gave her life to save the universe. She deserves to be honoured as a hero and to be at peace."

"Look, Thor, I'm not disagreeing with you. Red did a hell of a thing, and as humans go she was one of the good ones. But for all we know there's some magical aspect to that place because of the stone and there's nothing for us to even get."

"Still, I want to try."

"I'll go with you," Nebula offers as she comes up behind them. "I know the coordinates, and I'd like to pay my respects to Romanoff...and to my sister."

Rocket lets out a heavy exhale. "Fine, take the pod. We'll be here for at least a few days fixing up the ship anyway."

* * *

_"Good evening, Lady Natasha."_

"_Just Natasha is fine, Thor," she replies, the barest hint of exasperation in her tone as she tilts her head and scrutinizes him._

"_Forgive me," he says with a rueful smile while making his way across the roof to where she is leaning on the railing, looking out over the city. "It is custom-"_

_"Yes, I know. You've told me," Natasha interrupts gently, waving off his explanation. "I'm still waiting to meet this Lady Sif you keep telling us about though."_

_He grins widely. "She is keen to meet you as well."_

_Natasha's eyebrow arches doubtfully. "Really?"_

_Thor nods enthusiastically. "Oh yes. I've told her of the Avengers and our battles, and she was particularly intrigued by your inclusion on the team. It was her impression that human women did not usually partake in battle. Before meeting you, I'm embarrassed to admit I believed the same."_

_"Oh yeah, they're all about equal opportunity here on earth," Natasha replies with a roll of her eyes._

_Thor frowns in confusion. "Jane had informed me that there were many areas in which women were not given their fair-"_

_"Sarcasm, Thor."_

_"Of course," he replies, flashing a sheepish grin. "Still getting used to that here."_

_"I know," she replies with a reassuring smile. "Keep hanging out with Tony and you'll be fluent in human sarcasm and pop culture references in no time."_

_Thor puts Mjolnir down on the ground between them and leans back against the railing. "So what troubles you this eve?"_

_"Nothing," she replies with a shake of her head. "Just enjoying the view," she adds with a gesture toward the city's skyline._

_"It is a sight," he agrees after twisting to glance at the setting sun peeking through the outlines of the towering buildings._

_Natasha's head turns and her gaze narrows as she scrutinizes her teammate further. "What troubles __**you**_ _this eve?" she asks, echoing his words as her head tilts in an invitation to share._

_"Thinking of my mother," he admits._

_She nods understandingly. "I heard. I'm sorry for your loss."_

_"Thank you," he says with a nod. "She's in Valhalla now, rejoicing with her fellow warriors and ancestors."_

_"Is that where Asgardians go when they die?"_

_He nods. "The noble and worthy, yes. It is a place of peace where the brave live forever."_

_"That sounds beautiful," she offers softly._

_Another nod. "What is your people's afterlife like?" he asks, mirroring her pose and turning around to rest his arms on the railing._

_Natasha blows out a breathy laugh. "I don't think I'm qualified to answer that question." His brow furrows, prompting her to explain. "We have conflicting religions here on earth, each with their own ideas of what life after death is like. Some believe there is nothing after and our consciousness just stops. Some believe those who have lived good lives go to heaven to enjoy peace and happiness, and those not worthy of heaven are relegated to spend eternity suffering in hell. Some believe we are reincarnated into a brand new being. And those are just the main ones…"_

_"It must be confusing to live a life with so much uncertainty."_

_"Most of life is uncertain," she replies with a shrug. "People will believe what they want and need to."_

_"And what do you believe, Natasha?"_

_"I don't know," she admits after a beat. "But I think it's worth trying to do some good in the world in any case."_

_Thor nods. "It is always a worthy cause to do good in the world."_

_They fall into silence after that, each seeming content to watch the last beams of sunlight disappear beneath the horizon._

_"What makes a person worthy of admission to Valhalla?" Natasha asks, breaking the silence._

_Thor glances over to her and catches her gaze rising up from Mjolnir, a strange expression on her face that he can't place. "It is usually reserved for great warriors, and those who have died glorious deaths. Dying to save your people, your loved ones, in service of another…"_

_"I see."_

_Silence envelops them for a moment as he puzzles out why she had asked. He finds that the more he learns about her, the more he realizes that she is far more than what she lets people believe, and that Natasha is distinctly different from the Black Widow._

_"You would be welcomed with open arms, Lady Natasha. You have saved countless lives, and despite having no enhancements you fight alongside us in these battles against beings from other worlds and enemies armed with technology that surpasses your own."_

_"That's very kind of you to say..."_

_Thor recognizes her hesitancy and tilts his head. "And yet…" he prompts._

_"I'm not an Asgardian."_

_"My people can recognize contributions to the nine realms beyond those of our kind. Your actions have not only protected Midgard, but that of other realms as well." He pauses for a beat. "And besides, your life is far from over. Who knows what other battles you will help us emerge victorious from."_

_She smiles. "Anyone ever tell you that you'd make a great life coach?"_

_Thor frowns, recognizing the deflection but also unsure of the term she'd used. "Life coach? What's that?"_

_Natasha laughs. "Get Stark to explain it to you. Steve could probably use the explanation too, come to think of it."_

_"Yo, Point Break, Natalie! Care to join us? We've got a sceptre to go after!" Stark's voice calls out loudly from the doorway behind them. "It's briefing time."_

_"Speak of the devil," Natasha mutters with a roll of her eyes._

_"Let's go! Barton's gonna eat all the danishes, and you know how grumpy I get when-"_

_"Yeah, yeah. We'll be right there, shellhead," Natasha calls out, interrupting Stark's ramblings._

_He disappears back through the doorway, and they are left alone on the rooftop once more._

_"We better get a move on. He wasn't kidding about Clint eating all the danishes," she says, pushing herself off the railing._

_Thor's hand grabs her arm gently before she can get too far. Her gaze drops down to his hand immediately, looking unimpressed._

_"Fear not, Natasha," he says, heeding her unspoken warning and letting go of her arm. "You will, when the time comes, be welcomed into a peaceful and beautiful afterlife, wherever it shall be. I believe the Fates shall will it so."_

_Natasha blinks as she processes his words. "Here's hoping you're right," she replies dryly before heading back into the Tower._

* * *

_"Well done, Captain," Thor says as he claps him on the back. "A most valiant battle, and a strong victory in the end."_

_"Yeah," Cap replies distractedly as he eyes the damage surrounding them in the town. When they'd been called to handle some people with leftover Chitauri weapons and tech and a possible lead on the sceptre, none of them had imagined just how destructive it would be. But all things considered, things had gone well. There had been no civilian casualties, and the damage was not irreparable._

_"Stark's already called in his team to help out with the cleanup, Steve," Natasha says, sensing the source of his distress. "They're in good hands."_

_"Go to hell, Widow! You've done enough damage to this country!"_

_Thor's head whips around to find a small crowd of upset people yelling at the group of Avengers, or rather, at Natasha. As he recalls her explanation of the Midgardian concept of hell, Thor finds rage beginning to grow in his chest as he considers the man who is wishing eternal damnation on his teammate. His mouth opens to retort, but Natasha's hand is already on his arm pulling him away. "Don't, Thor. It's not worth it," she hisses._

_"Yes, it is," he replies, shrugging out of her hold. "You are a mighty warrior, and should be acknowledged as such. Not demeaned and threatened by the very people you are protecting."_

_"We don't want you here, you Russian wh-!"_

_"I'll ask you to be kinder to the Lady Natasha," Thor interrupts firmly, striding forward with purpose toward the man who shrinks back in the face of the large Asgardian._

_"Thor," Natasha calls from behind him, "leave it alone."_

_"She has just helped to protect you and your town's people from destruction and harm, and this is how you repay her efforts?"_

_"She's a Russian spy who's trying to bring down our country," the heckler spits back._

_"She is an Avenger," Thor corrects. "And you will treat her with the respect she deserves."_

_"I'll treat her however I-"_

_"You will treat her with respect," Thor repeats firmly, now towering over the man. His tone brooks no argument. "Now apologize."_

_The man looks disgusted at the very thought, but he shrinks back further under Thor's threatening stare._

_"Now," Thor presses, stepping closer to the man._

_"Sorry," the man mutters and then turns on his heel and walks away briskly._

_Natasha's expression is hard when Thor turns around. "I don't need you to fight my battles for me," she says. "I'm not some damsel in distress. I can handle myself."_

_Thor's brows knit together in confusion. "I meant no offence," he explains, holding up his hands to protest his innocence. "I know you are more than capable. I was merely ensuring you received the respect you were due. I would have done the same for anyone on the team."_

_She seems to consider his words before turning and heading back to their quinjet. Later, when they're just a few minutes from landing back at Avengers tower he feels her hand squeeze his arm as she walks past him. "Thank you," she says softly, ensuring no one else can hear. He nods, but she has already settled into the co-pilot's seat beside Barton as they prepare for landing._

* * *

"I don't understand," Thor says. "There should be _something_ here. Her weapons or perhaps her suit…"

"The stones...they are magical objects. Maybe her body was taken as a part of the sacrifice," Nebula offers, eyes drifting over the stony surface and searching for some hint of her sister.

Thor's throat tightens. He hadn't admitted it freely to himself, but a part of him had been hoping to find something of hers so he could give her a proper sending off.

He remembers many years before, standing atop Avengers tower discussing the afterlife. She hadn't had any idea of where she would end up when her time came, and had even seemed a bit envious of his firm belief in Valhalla. Looking back now, he wonders if she feared she might end up in hell. She'd never believed herself worthy, something Thor could never understand. He'd always suspected Cap could lift Mjolnir, but Natasha had dismissed the notion of even trying outright, as though she already knew the answer.

He feels a tear escape his eye. She'd pushed off the cliff to her death without knowing what came next. Without any belief in a place that would welcome her to eternal peace. Without any knowledge that there was even _somewhere_ for her to go.

Thor drops to his knee, touching his hand to the blood-stained rock before glancing up. It was a long way down, and he can't help but wonder what her final thoughts had been as she fell through the air. He hoped it was something that brought her peace. She had lived a life of conflict, wrought not only by those who sought to use her as a weapon and control her, but by her own mind as she warred with herself to leave her past behind and be a better person.

"Be at peace, Lady Natasha," he murmurs as his gaze drops back down to the stone beneath him. "Know that we are better for having known you, and that the world is better for you having been in it for your short time. Your bravery and your kindness were unparalleled, even though overlooked by so many. You were a strong and fierce warrior." He pauses as he clenches his jaw to hold in his grief. "And a true friend."

Thor turns to find Nebula kneeling next to him, her head bowed respectfully. They stay there for a few more minutes before they reach an unspoken agreement that they should go.

Thor allows himself one final look up at the cliff as he rises to his feet. "I know I shall see you again, Natasha. I know you were worthy of Valhalla, and I look forward to seeing you when my time here is done." His eyes close as he pictures her determined expression. "May your eternal life be as beautiful as your soul, and may you finally find rest."

The walk to the pod is silent, with only their footfalls and the whipping wind to fill the void.

"Do you think they know we beat him?" Nebula asks suddenly.

Thor stops and turns his head to meet her gaze before he nods solemnly. "I think they do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thor's reaction to her death was so visceral that I couldn't leave it alone. It made me realize they hadn't interacted all that much in the films...so I made some of my own moments instead. :-)
> 
> I also enjoyed writing this one more than I thought I would. Ultimately it boils down to the fact that I think there's a lot to explore in their friendship.
> 
> As always...your comments and thoughts are welcomed and appreciated. It's always nice to get a peek into the headspace of the readers!
> 
> More to come...


	9. Hey, Nat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has a long overdue visit with his fallen friend, and then reunites for a proper conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for all that irritates me about Steve, I utterly adore and appreciate the friendship that he and Natasha had.
> 
> enjoy.

"You wanna tell me about _her_?" Sam asks with a gentle smirk, pointedly glancing down at the ring on Steve's finger.

"No… No I don't think I will," Steve replies, straightening up and looking out over the water with a content expression on his face. He feels an inexplicable need to keep his life with Peggy private, even though the man asking about her is one of the best men he's ever known.

Sam's lips curve into a smile at the sight of his friend finally _truly_ happy after so many years spent toiling in regrets and fighting a series of never-ending battles. "You have time to grab a bite to eat?" he asks hopefully. "Catch up for old times' sake? Well, old in your case anyway," he adds with a slight chuckle.

Steve offers a small smile of his own as he turns to face his friend once more. "Sure. But there's someone I need to visit first."

"Sure thing," Sam replies solemnly, noticing the shift in Steve's demeanour from relaxed to more serious. "You need a ride somewhere?"

"No," Steve replies with a slow shake of his head. "It's not far. I'll meet you back here, if you don't mind waiting."

"Of course," Sam nods slowly as his brow furrows in confusion. "Take your time."

Steve rises to his feet, waving off Sam's proffered arm of assistance, and then begins to make his way slowly away from the waterfront. He stops briefly to share a meaningful look with Bucky and give his shoulder a quick reassuring squeeze, and then again to exchange a nod with Bruce. There would be time to explain everything later.

His steps guide him slowly but steadily past some of the still smouldering wreckage of the former Avengers Compound. Memories of those blissful years of relative peace drift to the surface...back when the world had still believed in the Avengers. Then everything had gone to hell and left them fractured by their own hands and by the world's fear. But those few years before the Accords...it had been so invigorating to be actively doing good and making the world a safer place, even if he'd still been struggling to acclimate in what was essentially a new world for him.

Eventually he finds himself standing in front of the tree he had once helped to plant in honour of the woman who had been a friend, a teammate, and a hero. He breathes out a heavy sigh as his gaze drifts over the small branches and tiny buds. Despite the many, many years that it's been for him, the memories of that day are still as clear as though it had been just yesterday.

He remembers the feeling of the dirt on his hands and under his nails as he smoothed it out at the base of the tree, the feel of the air that was so heavy with everyone's grief, and how Sam's hand on his shoulder had been the only thing grounding him as he listened to his friends and teammates speak about what Natasha had meant to them.

It had been a week later, minutes before he was due to jump back in time again, that he'd stood in front of the freshly planted tree, still clinging to a tiny shred of hope that returning the stone would bring her back. That hope had lingered even as he'd held the orange stone out over the cliff in Vormir. He'd still believed that somehow, some way, she could be brought back.

_His steps toward the edge of the cliff are slow and tentative as his fear of what he'll see when he looks down grows in his chest. Clint had given him a more detailed account of what had happened between them on Vormir, and Steve had felt sick to his stomach imagining her pushing off the cliff and falling hundreds of feet to her death. As he moves forward with measured steps, part of him wishes that her body is still there, and part of him wishes that the magic of the stone will have taken it away._

_He's not ready by the time he reaches the edge but he knows he never will be, and so with a deep breath he tips his gaze down. Tears well immediately as he spots her body lying there and he curses his enhanced eyesight as some of the features take shape. The tide of grief rises and he chokes on it as his heart aches with the loss of his friend. She deserves so much more than to be lying at the foot of a cliff on a planet known as the dominion of death._

_He turns around to face Schmidt - or, at least whatever version of him this floating being is - and pulls out the stone from his pocket. "What happens when I return it?"_

"_I cannot say. Few have come to retrieve it, none have ever returned it."_

_Steve swallows the lump of hope forming. "Will it bring her back?"_

"_It was an everlasting exchange."_

"_But I'm giving it back," he replies stubbornly._

"_It is everlasting," the floating being repeats. "A soul for a soul."_

_The glimmer of hope that had been lingering fades and Steve's head tips down with a heavy sigh. "Do I just…" he trails off, and gestures to the cliff._

"_Yes," the floating being answers simply, and then to Steve's surprise, moves a short distance away as though giving some semblance of privacy._

_Steve turns back and glances down once more, simultaneously trying to avoid looking at her body and committing to memory what details he can make out. "I'm sorry, Nat," he whispers. "I really hoped that-"_

_But he can't finish the sentence as he's choked by emotion again. He looks down at the stone in his hand, and feels its inexplicable warmth on his palm. He closes his fingers around it gently and then presses a kiss to his fist. He lets out a heavy exhale and then drops it over the edge, watching as it disappears into the thickening mist, taking with it the last piece of his friend._

_There's a flash of light and the mist clears. He looks down and sees nothing but rock._

He had told everyone 'whatever it takes' before they'd jumped back in time. Nat had looked at him, smiled as her eyes lit up for the first time in _years_, and teased "See you in a minute." If only he'd known that would be the last time he would see her alive… Beating Thanos and bringing everybody back had lifted a weight off their shoulders that had sat there for five long years. But losing Tony and Nat had left a new one on their hearts that would sit there permanently. Even the joy of reuniting with the love of his life and _finally_ sharing a dance with her hadn't been enough to erase the pain of losing them.

Steve stands silently in front of the tree for a long time, wrestling with what he wants to say. Thanks to his journey backwards through time he's had years to try and come to terms with her death, and yet somehow it still feels as fresh as it had when he'd left to return the stones.

"Hey, Nat," he says softly as he sighs. There's so much he wants to say, but the words are somehow out of reach. _All those damn impromptu speeches over the years, and I can't find __**anything**_ _to say now_ he thinks bitterly.

But then he thinks about what she'd tell him and he smiles.

_"Quit thinking so much, Steve. That's Tony and Bruce's thing. Just say what comes to mind."_

She'd always had a knack for knowing what he needed to hear. It was one of the things that had made her such a good friend, and a hell of a second in command.

He takes a deep breath and controls the exhale, just like she'd taught him years before.

"I would hope that this goes without saying, but...I've really missed you. And I'm sorry that I didn't do this before...at your funeral, I mean. I just kept holding on to the hope that returning the stone would bring you back. And then when you didn't come back… Well, it just didn't feel right doing this anywhere but here."

Deep inhale. Slow exhale.

"I'm sure by now you know what I did after returning the stones. I can't figure out if you would scold me or be proud of me for going back to be with Peggy. I know it was selfish, but…I was just done with it all, you know? And after all those years of you and Tony teasing me to get a life outside of work… Well, I finally did."

Steve falls quiet, letting his words hang in the air. While he'd felt the need to keep his life with Peggy private from Sam, there's a safety in admitting his choice to Nat. But he does wonder if he would have told her about Peggy if the conversation were happening face to face instead of being one-sided. A tiny smile spreads when he realizes he _absolutely _would have told her...if only to prove to her that her matchmaking skills had been terrible.

But as quickly as the smile appears, it fades.

"I'm a little bit mad at you," he admits quietly, the words feeling a bit too harsh given what she had done for Clint, and for the team..._for everyone _really. Even though it's been years for him, he still hasn't come to terms with his feelings surrounding her death. "We weren't supposed to trade lives, and I know that you knew that." He pauses again for a moment to gather his composure. "But...I also know that you did what you did to save your best friend's life...and to save your family, so I guess I can't really hold that against you… But I still hate that it was you."

He can practically hear the pointed argument she would make, lobbing the absurdity of his words back at him.

"I know you would argue that the alternative of losing Clint wasn't any better," he admits with a rueful smile. "And of course you would be right. But you were the one that held onto the idea of getting everyone back. We'd all moved on in some way, but you kept hoping and kept things going. Even when we gave up, you didn't. You deserved to see it through to the end more than any of us."

He pauses again, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and feeling the aches that had settled into his old bones long ago.

"I really hope you're at peace, wherever you are. With everything you went through in your life...you've more than earned it. And I know that you would probably disagree with me on that, but it's true, Nat. You spent all those years trying to be worthy of being a part of the team...but Nat, you were."

Shaky inhale, shaky exhale.

"Maybe more than any of us. You _chose_ to do good in the world, despite your past and what they did to you. You _chose_ to battle aliens and monsters and magic without the safety net of a super soldier serum or an advanced tech suit. You _chose_ to save people and put your life on the line."

Steve pauses as he blinks away some tears. "I promise you, Nat...you were worthy of being a part of the Avengers."

Another pause. "Of _leading_ the Avengers," he amends.

"Because you were a hero, Nat, plain and simple. And I know you never believed that title fit you, but it's the God's honest truth, Natasha. I'm just sad that I never could convince you of that, because you deserved to have that. To know that."

Steve falls into silence again, wishing more than anything that he could have just another moment with her. To try and tell her all of this face to face, to convince her that she was a hero and that she was worthy of being loved and admired. She'd spent a lifetime trying to make up for what the Red Room had forced her to become and for the terrible things they had forced her to do. But no matter how many lives she saved, he suspected that she never felt that her actions were enough to balance her ledger.

"You gave up everything to save us. You gave up _everything_ so the world could go back to living their lives with their loved ones. And it's not fair, not by a long shot, because you deserved to get a chance to live in the world that you saved and to have people thank you for saving them. You died without _any _of the gratitude that you were owed."

Steve's gaze drifts up toward the sky as he blinks to try and quell the stream of tears that's already filled his eyes.

"I wish I'd told you how much you meant to me before we jumped back in time. I wish I'd told you how much I appreciated you teaching me what I needed to know about the world when I woke up in a world that was so different from what I'd known. I wish I hadn't moved out of the Compound and that we'd spent more time together those last few years. I wish I'd told you how important it was having you by my side to lead the Avengers all that time. We took you for granted, Nat. All of us. And I'm so sorry for that. You deserved so much better from us."

Steve wipes away the tears that had escaped despite his efforts of keeping them at bay.

"Wherever you are, I really hope you know that we loved you, Nat, and that you were _absolutely_ worthy of that love, and of being a part of the team. And I hope you know that your family misses you every single damn day."

* * *

Steve goes in his sleep, drifting off one final time before waking in his childhood bedroom. His mother greets him and they share a long hug before she explains the afterlife to him. He meets his father and reunites with the Howling Commandos (except for Bucky of course). And then he runs into a still exuberant Phil Coulson, who smiles and tells him where he can find her.

It isn't surprising to him that Nat's place of peace is the dock overlooking the lake at the Avengers Compound. She'd once told him that the team had been her family, and so _of course_ she would gravitate to the familiarity of her _home_ in her afterlife.

What _is_ a surprise however, is the fact that Tony's sitting beside her. Steve figured he'd be with his parents, or at the lake house that he, Pepper, and Morgan had made their home. But as he watches the two of them chat quietly and gaze out over the lake, he realizes that maybe he had overlooked the friendship between them over the years. They'd bickered and they'd fought what felt like constantly, but they'd also traded quips and playful barbs not unlike he and Bucky had.

He watches as Tony rises to his feet, and then leans over to press a tender kiss to the top of Nat's head. Steve's eyes widen in surprise, because neither of them had ever been quite so open with their emotions while they'd been alive. He says something Steve can't hear, and then Nat nods, her gaze never straying from the horizon in front of her where the sun is setting.

Tony gets halfway to him before he looks up and realizes Steve's in his path. "Good to see you, Cap," he says when he reaches him.

"You too, Tony," Steve replies, holding out a hand. Tony grins and shakes his hand firmly and uses his other arm to pull him into a hug.

"Gotta say, I didn't think we'd be seeing you _quite_ so soon."

"Well I may or may not have made use of time travel to get myself a life," Steve replies with a small smirk.

Tony claps him on the back as he laughs lightly. "You gave up the conveniences of the future to go live in the past? You mean I taught you how to use a cell phone for nothing?"

"Natasha was the one who taught me how to use a cell phone," Steve points out.

"Well, I provided said phone, so that counts for something."

Steve grins and shakes his head lightly with a chuckle.

"Go see her," Tony says, his tone sobering into a more serious one. "I'm sure she'll be happy to see a new familiar face."

Steve frowns immediately. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, she's fine," Tony replies as he waves off his concern. "She's just...grieving."

Steve blinks. He hadn't thought of it like that. Everyone had been mourning the loss of her and Tony, but they've been mourning the loss of _everyone_.

"And you know what they say," Tony continues, "you have good days and bad days. And some days it's harder to come to terms with what you're missing out on."

Steve nods in understanding and Tony walks past him, giving his shoulder a squeeze on his way.

Part of him is surprised she hasn't noticed his approach, but then he wonders if maybe she'd left her hyper-vigilance behind. "Hey, Nat," he says quietly once he's only a few feet away.

Her head whips around and the expression on her face is one of pure shock. Clearly she had no idea to expect him… _Does that mean she hasn't been watching?_ he wonders.

"Steve?" she whispers as she rises to her feet.

"Yeah, it's me," he replies simply, offering a reassuring smile.

Her arms are wrapped around him tightly before he can even register her moving forward to close the distance between them. He squeezes her tightly, eyes closing as he revels in the familiarity that he'd been missing for years.

"I've missed you," he murmurs, the words slightly muffled by her hair as his head leans on hers.

"Me too," she answers softly, face pressed into his shirt.

Steve's brow furrows as he wonders just how long it's been for her. He'd lived an entire lifetime without her, but her experience of their time apart was completely different…

"Come sit," she says as they break apart, gesturing for him to follow her back to the edge of the dock. "Tell me everything. I saw you went back to return the stones, but I haven't really been watching lately so I don't know what's been going on…"

"And here I had a long conversation with the tree we planted in your honour…" he says, trying for some gentle humour, but knowing that she's seen past it.

Her smile fades. "I'm sorry," she apologizes. "But I'm here now…"

He smiles gently. "I don't know if I have a repeat performance in me," he admits, again adopting a slightly teasing tone to cover the truth in his words. He doubts that she buys it though.

"Well, we have all the time in the world now," she replies with a slightly sad but knowing smile as she bumps his shoulder with hers. "So catch me up on everything else."

He smiles gently, grateful that she still understands him so well. "Well, I returned the stones and then I thought...why don't I go and live my life…"

"You and Peggy, huh?" she teases with a wide grin.

He laughs. "Well, since my self-appointed matchmaker disappeared on me, I had to take things into my own hands."

She laughs lightly and Steve is thrilled with the sound. "I'm happy for you, Steve. You made it work and thrived with us, but your heart was always in the past."

He smiles sheepishly. "I suppose it was a bit obvious."

"Only to those with eyes or ears," she laughs. "Was it everything you'd imagined it would be?"

"Yeah. I missed everyone of course, but it was just...beautiful. It was so beautiful, Nat."

She smiles, and he can see moisture in her eyes. She grabs his hand and squeezes it gently. "I bet it was."

"I was a dad."

She turns to face him. "Yeah?"

He nods, feeling tears of his own forming. "Yeah. It was amazing."

She's still smiling, but the tears have begun to slip out. "I'm so happy you got your happy ending."

Steve swallows as the lump of guilt forms in his throat. "I'm sorry you didn't get yours," he replies softly, giving her hand a squeeze.

Her gaze shifts to look out over the water thoughtfully and she uses her free hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks. "I lived longer than I ever thought I would. And I died saving the people I loved." She pauses, turning to meet his gaze. "That was my happy ending."

He's struck by how at peace she seems with everything. Tony's words had worried him, and he'd expected her to be a bit more...broken up about everything. But then again this _was_ Natasha…

"I was angry at you for a long time," he admits quietly, suddenly feeling the need to tell her.

"There's a lot of anger in grief," she says with a shrug.

"It was never supposed to be you."

"It's never _supposed_ to be anyone."

Steve lets her words hang in the air for a moment, thinking about how true they are, and it frustrates him that she's right. "You meant so much to us, Nat. You knew that, right?"

She smiles. "I told you, I used to have nothing...but I didn't die having nothing. I died knowing that I had a family and that I was saving them."

Steve's lips twist into a bittersweet smile. "Thank you, Nat," he says softly, dropping every ounce of teasing tone and inflection of humour.

She turns to him with a small frown of confusion.

"I never got to say that to you," he clarifies. "Thank you...for everything."

"Steve-" she starts, but he doesn't let her protest build any steam.

"No, I mean it, Nat. You…" he trails off and gives his head a little shake as his gaze drifts down to his lap where his free hand is picking at a loose thread. "I don't think I would've been able to handle everything that we did without you by my side. And...God you saved all of us. When you didn't come back…" he trails off again, emotion choking him. "And then when I went to return the stone and saw your body just lying there..." he finishes in a whisper, shaking his head.

Nat gives his hand a reassuring squeeze and leans her head onto his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he continues, "I didn't- When I said whatever it takes, I didn't mean-"

"It's okay, Steve," she shushes him softly.

"No," he counters quickly, "it's not okay."

"It is," she insists as she picks her head up off his shoulder and turns to face him. "It was my choice, Steve. I chose to die. I chose it to save my family."

"But-"

"No, Steve," she says, interrupting his argument before it can begin. "I made peace with it. And it worked - you guys fixed everything. I don't regret the choice I made."

She leans her head back down onto his shoulder as they lapse into silence for a moment and Steve wonders how she can be so calm and accepting about everything. He's had years to try and come to terms with losing her and Tony, and yet he's still bitter about it.

"I think maybe it was just meant to be this way," she adds quietly.

"I didn't take you for someone to believe in fate."

"That's not what I mean. My whole life I tried to understand who I was supposed to be and what my purpose was. They told us over and over and over again in the Red Room that we had no place in the world, and I think that I still believed that in some way until Clint and I were up on that cliff.

"I wanted to save his life, yes, but it just felt..._right_ for me to make that sacrifice. Like it was what I'd been building up to all those years after Clint chose to spare my life."

He wants to argue that her life was worth more than just living to die, but a softly spoken "Nat…" is all he can manage.

She sits up straighter and turns to face him. "It's okay, Steve. Really. I know it sounds awful, but it's...kind of freeing actually. Knowing that I did something real, and something concrete to help...it feels right."

They lapse into silence, each staring out over the water. He squeezes her hand every now and again, a silent means of telling her how much she means to him. She returns the gesture each time.

"Have you checked in on Clint?" he asks as the final beams of sun are disappearing beneath the horizon.

"I know he and the family are okay," she answers somewhat cryptically.

Steve's brow furrows slightly. "Nat…" he prompts, mindful that it's a sensitive topic for her.

"It's hard," she answers with a sigh after a moment of hesitation. "I don't regret what I did. Not at all. But...it's hard to see everything I left behind. I...I was ready to die but at the same time...I don't think I really realized the full scope of what I was giving up."

Steve slips his hand from her grasp to wrap his arm around her shoulders and pull her tightly to his side.

"Did you see them?" she asks quietly.

He nods. "They came to Tony's funeral, and to yours of course. The kids told me stories about Auntie Nat bringing them presents from all over the world, and how she would hug them tightly and twirl them around in the air. Laura told me about the young assassin her husband brought home who'd once been overwhelmed when asked what she wanted for dessert, and about the woman she thought of as her sister."

Nat ducks her head as she struggles to hold in her grief, but Steve just pulls her even tighter into his side. "Clint told me about the woman who saved his life over and over again, and the woman who'd been the best friend anyone could have ever asked for."

Her tears are flowing freely now, and Steve lets her press her face into his shoulder. "They loved you so much, Nat. We all did."

She lets out a shuddering breath. "I miss them," she admits, the words barely a whisper. "Clint and Laura and the kids… Sam, and Wanda, and-"

Steve squeezes her tightly, interrupting her list because he knows it all by heart. "I know, Nat. And I'm sorry."

They fall into silence as the moon rises and stars begin to dot the sky. Steve understands then why Tony had told him she'd be happy to see him. For as much as she had appeared to be at peace with her decision, there was still a lot for her to come to terms with.

"Hey, Nat?" he says once she's had a chance to regain some composure.

"Yeah?"

"You're a hero. You know that, right?"

She sighs lightly. "I think I'm starting to," she admits, and he's struck by the honesty. It must show in his face because she hastens to explain. "Phil and Tony have appointed it their mission to convince me. They take turns looking in on the world and telling me every time they see someone celebrating the Black Widow."

"I can't imagine they have to look far…"

She smiles. "Neither has come back empty handed yet, so maybe you all are onto something."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoyed it? Drop me a line and let me know. I do so love to hear what folks think.
> 
> more to come...inspiration just keeps striking.


	10. I Just Push the Paper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pepper - in those 5 years, and a bit after the battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because when I heard about the alternative storyline for Natasha in Endgame, my brain would not stop. and because I firmly believe Pepper and Natasha were friends.
> 
> fair warning: a few time jumps in this one - thankfully not of the time-travel variety.
> 
> enjoy.

Pepper leans back into the couch cushions as a heavy sigh quickly turns into a large yawn. She stretches her arms and flexes her fingers in an effort to abate some of the stiffness that had settled in over the past few hours. She had foolishly decided to spend a little bit of time going through her emails to prioritize what needed to be dealt with immediately and what could wait. Two and a half hours later, and she had barely made a dent.

The sudden disappearance of half the world's population was, understandably, causing chaos and panic everywhere. In the immediate aftermath of Thanos' snap she had managed to get in touch with Rhodey, who had filled her in best he could on what had happened. He and the remaining Avengers had stayed in Wakanda briefly to try and figure out a response to the catastrophic event, but left just a few days later empty handed and ultimately without a plan. They reconvened at the Compound where they had access to more of their resources. Pepper and Happy had joined them there, providing what support they could and keeping a hopeful eye on their efforts of locating Tony.

Once Tony had gotten back and had the _very_ nasty falling out with Steve, she and Tony decided they would move back into the city. But just as soon as the world had begun taking steps toward righting itself, Tony had switched gears and begun building them a house on a lake far away from the city's glaring spotlights and away from the painful memories of the Compound. In the grand scheme of things, they weren't actually all that far from the Compound, but they may as well have been in Antarctica with how vast the distance felt.

A small frown creases Pepper's brow as her email chimes with a new batch of emails. _Half the world disappears and somehow I get __**more **__emails than before?! _she thinks as she holds in a sigh. But a quick scan of the emails has her doing a double-take, because sitting there at the top is one from Natasha.

**Pepper,**

**Hoping everything is well with you. I have something I'd like to discuss with you, do you have some time for a meeting?**

**I'm happy to meet at any time and place that is convenient for you - just forward the details.**

**I also understand completely if you don't want to meet. I just ask that you let me know.**

**Thanks,**

**Natasha**

Given the way Tony had ripped into Steve shortly after returning from space, and the subsequent failure by the rest of the remaining team to get the stones back, things had been more than a little tense amongst the former team members.. Everyone had ended up falling into a silently agreed upon no contact rule. Tony let them stay at the Compound and paid the monthly expenses for the building, etc., and they left Tony alone. Of course Rhodey and Bruce were the exception to this, both checking in with Tony and her pretty frequently.

With the continued tension, it was strange for Natasha to be reaching out. Clearly whatever she wanted to discuss was important if she was breaking their implicitly agreed upon silence, but still...Tony wouldn't be happy when he found out. While more of his resentment was directed toward Steve, a good chunk of it was aimed at Natasha for betraying him on the Accords. Tony didn't trust easily, and when that trust was broken it was not easily earned back.

Pepper's relationship with Natasha was still civil though, even if they hadn't talked in some time, and it was clear the issue to be discussed was important. Decision made, she leans forward and taps out a response.

**Natasha,**

**I have some time Thursday morning. Let's meet for coffee at 9am. I'll come to you.**

**Pepper**

She collapses back into the couch again as her mind begins to spin through possibilities of what Natasha might want...or perhaps more accurately, what she might _need._ From what Rhodey had explained, Steve had taken a step back from leading the team in the months that followed their failed attempt to get the stones, splitting his time between helping with Avengers-related duties and running a support group in Brooklyn. Natasha had stepped up as the leader in his absence, and had apparently been more focused than ever on finding a solution to bring everybody back. But Rhodey had also told her it was clear that Nat was struggling.

"Whatcha working on?"

Pepper blinks in surprise, she hadn't realized Tony had returned from the garage already. She was used to his tinkering sessions lasting until all hours of the morning, even if he was trying hard to be more present in their time together. "Just trying to get through some of my inbox."

"Lost cause," he replies with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Pepper eyes him for a moment as she weighs whether or not she should tell him about Natasha's email. "Someone has to do it. Not everything got put on hold."

Tony shrugs. "I guess. You're the boss."

Pepper lets silence settle around them for a moment before she decides to tell him. "I got an email from Natasha." Tony's gaze hardens slightly and his posture stiffens. "She has something she wants to discuss with me."

"What is it?" His tone is wary, and laced with tension.

"She didn't say."

"Is she coming here?"

Pepper shakes her head. "I'm going to the Compound Thursday morning."

"I'm coming with you."

"Tony, you don't have to. I know you don't like-"

"If you're going, I'm going. I don't know what she wants, but-"

"She's not the enemy, Tony," Pepper says gently, thinking of a time when the two of them had traded quips effortlessly.

"Yeah, well she's not exactly a friend either."

"She was once."

"Not anymore."

"Well don't just come along to bring up old grudges."

"I won't say a word if you don't want me to."

"That'd be a first," she remarks dryly.

"Ha. Ha. I mean it, though."

"Fine."

* * *

"Romanoff," Tony says evenly as he strides through the doorway. "Love what you've done with the place," he adds, looking pointedly at the haphazard piles of paper with indecipherable scrawled notes across many of them. Pepper's own eyes trail over the desk and she's surprised by the mess there. Natasha was many things, but messy was certainly not one of them. Her work and her desk during her time at Stark Industries had been impeccable, and as good a spy as she is, Pepper suspects that's not something easily faked for as long as she'd done it.

"You forget I've seen your work shop. Glass houses, Tony…" she lobs back. Maybe if Rhodey hadn't said anything, Pepper wouldn't have noticed...but now all she can see is the bags under Nat's eyes and the exhaustion in her posture. Even her barb to Tony lacks its usual bite.

"Never was one for greenhouses," he quips dismissively, his gaze sliding to the hallway as though looking for something…or someone.

"You checking to see if you get to keep my damage deposit?"

He shrugs. "Can't be too careful. Gotta watch my back. I've seen what you can do with knives…"

_Oh, that was so uncalled for. _"Tony," Pepper tuts sharply, but both he and Natasha seem to ignore her.

"He's not here," Natasha says icily, steely gaze fixed on Tony, "so you can stop straining your neck."

"I don't give a sh-"

"Tony!" Pepper interrupts, this time more forcibly. "If you're just going to antagonize things here, you can wait in the car."

He huffs, but stays quiet and drops down on the couch in the sitting area. Pepper sits down gently on the other end of the couch and shoots him one last look of warning before turning her attention to Natasha once more.

"Can I get you anything? A tea, maybe?" Natasha offers diplomatically.

"That would be lovely, thank you."

Natasha nods and disappears into the kitchen area.

"I swear to God, Tony," Pepper whispers furiously. "You said you were going to be quiet."

"What, I can't catch up for old time's sake?"

Pepper glares. "Behave, or you'll be _walking_ home."

"But I-"

"I mean it. You may have a grudge match, but my relationship with Natasha is still civil. And we both know whatever it is she wants to talk about must be important if she reached out. So shut up and behave," she finishes just as Natasha makes her way back into the room with a tray.

"Tea for you, Pepper. And I brought you a coffee, Tony. You want me to taste it first so you know it's not poisoned?"

Pepper resists the urge to drop her head into her hands. Tony was antagonistic, yes, but Natasha wasn't exactly acting angelic either.

"Nah, you don't hate Pepper and she inexplicably likes me, so I like my chances."

Natasha's brow furrows ever so briefly. "I don't hate you, Tony," she says, all the venom and bitterness having melted out of her tone. Pepper can't help but hear sadness in her words.

"We gonna discuss anything other than the past, or what?" he says quickly, not dwelling on her words. Pepper suppresses the urge to point out _he_ was the one dragging up old grudges.

Natasha sits up straighter and nods. "Thank you for coming," she says evenly, turning to face Pepper. "How's the baby treating you?"

"Temperamental, like their father," Pepper replies dryly. "I swear I'm throwing up every twenty minutes and I'm exhausted all the time...but it's a miracle given everything that's happened, so I'm not complaining."

Natasha doesn't say anything but she smiles. Pepper takes a sip of her tea and isn't surprised when it's perfect. Years later and _of course_ Natasha still remembers how she takes it. "So what did you need to discuss?"

"I have a proposal of sorts."

Tony's brow arches, but he remains quiet much to Pepper's surprise. "What kind of proposal?"

"The potentially _slightly_ expensive kind."

"_Of course_ it's expensive," Tony scoffs.

_Aaaaand there it is,_ Pepper thinks to herself. She knew he wouldn't be able to help himself. _It's going off the rails now for sure._

"What d'you want to spend my money on now?" Tony continues. "New weapons? Upping the food budget? Thinking of putting in an extension on the north side of the compound?"

"Orphans," Natasha answers succinctly, not rising to the bait.

Tony frowns. "Come again?"

"Orphans," she repeats. "I want to start an initiative to help out the kids who were left without anyone to care for them because of...of what happened."

Tony just stares at her and blinks as he processes her words. Her answer has taken the wind out of the sails of his grudges and pent up anger.

"What do you need from us?" Pepper asks, CEO hat sliding firmly into place as she starts thinking business.

"I'm happy to do the lion's share of the work, but I need some funding and resources. I don't have enough cash to keep it running long enough to do any good," Natasha says, her gaze dropping briefly to her hands uncharacteristically. "I'll work anonymously behind the scenes so my name stays out of it. It would be a Stark Industries thing, through and through."

Pepper considers the idea. It's not a bad one by any means. In fact, it's right in line with what the Stark Relief Foundation had been trying to do over the past few months. "Talk to me about logistics."

Natasha spends the next 25 minutes taking them through the various pieces of her proposal, including the immediate actions and the more long-term vision. Pepper finds herself a bit surprised by the poise of Natasha, given how Rhodey had alluded to her seeming to be losing her famed composure more and more often, and the uncharacteristically messy surface of her desk.

Pepper is quiet for a long moment as she contemplates things. "I'll need to talk with our lawyers to get things drawn up, but I think it's an excellent idea," she says finally.

Natasha blows out a heavy breath that Pepper is certain she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Pepper...thank you."

"Hey, it's my money," Tony interjects, but it's only half-hearted. Pepper knows he desperately wants to hate Natasha, but even with the depth of his grudge he can't deny her idea is a good one. And in any case, Pepper suspects his anger with Nat is starting to fade with time and distance.

"Ignore him, he's acting out because the grownups are talking without him," Pepper says cheekily.

Natasha smiles. "What do you need from me?"

"Do you have the proposal written out?"

Natasha shakes her head. "Not yet, I was waiting to see if it was worth putting any time into it."

"Okay," Pepper replies with a nod. "That's completely fair. Write it up, and I'll present it to our lawyers to look over. Then Tony and I will present it to the board. I don't foresee any issues getting this up and running quickly. I'll allocate some staff to help you with the logistics."

Natasha nods her understanding. "I'll have it to you by tomorrow morning."

Pepper blinks in surprise. "By Monday is fine, it's going to take some time for you to put it all together after all."

Natasha nods, but Pepper has a feeling she'll have the proposal in her inbox by the morning anyway.

* * *

"Pepper," Natasha says as she looks up from her desk, a surprised expression on her face. "Hi. Did we have an appointment?"

"Oh no," she replies, shaking her head, "I just needed to get out of the house and away from Tony."

Nat smiles weakly, but knowingly. "Hovering?"

"Unbearably."

"You know that's only going to get worse when the kid gets here, right?"

Pepper grimaces. "Yeah, I know. Do you have a few minutes? I would love to talk about anything _other_ than this baby."

Nat smiles again, a little brighter than initially. "Yeah, I have a few minutes. You want something to drink?"

"I'd _kill _for a good martini, but sadly that's off the menu for now. Got any ice cream?"

"I think I've got a pint of the Hulk's flavour," she offers with an expression that's a mix between a smile and a smirk.

"Oh, thank god. Tony has been feeding me nothing but healthy snacks… I haven't seen junk food in...I don't even know how long. He even gave up cheeseburgers!"

Nat disappears into the kitchen area to retrieve the ice cream and Pepper eases herself onto the couch. Her gaze drifts around the room, cataloguing the changes since she'd been there last. The paperwork on Nat's desk seems to have tripled in size, and there's several more tablets and holo screens running seemingly constantly. She spies some ballet shoes on a chair, and a gym bag hanging off the back of it.

"Here, have at it," Nat says as she hands the pint and a spoon over to Pepper before curling up in a chair across from the couch.

"You are a goddess, Natasha," Pepper says appreciatively as she swallows the first bite of the ice cream. "A _goddess_!"

She chuckles. "Happy to oblige."

"So what's new with you?"

Nat shrugs. "Not much. Same as usual. Keeping up with the paperwork, making sure the initiative is still on top of things, keeping in touch with the team, doing some research."

Pepper scrutinizes her friend and wonders when the last time she left the Compound was. "I hear the initiative is doing really well. That's all thanks to your work."

"I just push the paper," Nat replies, waving off the gratitude. "Your staff are the ones making it work. They're fantastic, by the way."

Pepper frowns. "Give yourself a little credit, Nat. This is your baby, after all." A weak smile flashes on Natasha's face. "You should do an on-site visit."

Her eyes widen fractionally. "That's not necess-"

"I didn't say it was necessary. I'm saying you _should_ do it. Those kids...you're changing their lives, Nat. So many of them want to thank you."

She shakes her head. "I'm just-"

"Pushing paper, I know," Pepper interrupts with a roll of her eyes. "We need to agree to disagree there, I think. You're making a huge difference to them. Just...think about it?"

"Okay," she replies reluctantly, though Pepper is certain she's already dismissing the thought.

* * *

"Thank you, Quinten," Pepper says with a grateful smile, her gaze fixed on the holo screen in front of her. "Anything else going on there I should know about?"

"Ms Romanoff visited the kids yesterday."

Pepper blinks in shock. When she'd suggested months before that Natasha go and visit the initiative on site, she never imagined she would actually do it. "How did that go?"

"Swimmingly. The kids, especially the girls, were over the moon to see her. We must have taken hundreds of photos. The kids have them up on their walls now."

Pepper smiles and feels her eyes begin to tear up. _God damn hormones_ she curses to herself. "Could you send me a few of them? I'd like to pass them along to her."

"Of course, ma'am."

"Anything else?"

"No, that's it."

"Great, talk to you next week," Pepper says before ending the video call and taking out the ear piece.

A notification for an email from Quinten pops up a minute later and she opens it. He's sent over a few photos, all of which feature Natasha posing with some of the kids. The last one is by far her favourite though. Nat is sitting on a couch, absolutely swarmed and covered by kids who are clearly laughing, their smiles wide and eyes bright. Nat's got a smile on her face as well, and though it's a far cry from her smiles in the early Avengers days, it's the happiest Pepper has seen her since before the Accords tore the team apart.

"What's that?" Tony asks, gesturing to the photos on the screen in front of her with the spatula he's using to cook dinner.

"Nat finally went to visit the kids. I asked Quinten to send over some photos."

"Yeah? How'd it go?"

"Judging by the huge grins on their faces, I'd say quite well," she replies, flicking the photos over to him.

He pauses his cooking to enlarge them and lean in to have a closer look. Pepper is surprised to find his expression soften considerably and a gentle smile spread as he looks at them. He schools his features and then glances back at Pepper. "You should send a copy of this one to her," he says, pointing at the group shot of Nat swarmed on the couch. "God knows she needs something to brighten up that desk of hers."

"Yeah?" Pepper replies. _Maybe the hatchet had truly begun to be buried after all_, she muses.

"We've probably got a spare frame somewhere, right?" She nods. "Then throw it in a frame and mail it over."

Pepper nods and then grabs a pen and paper to write a short note to accompany it.

**Natasha,**

**A reminder that all the paper you're pushing has a real impact. Thank you for all your efforts.**

**Pepper**

* * *

"Mommy?"

"What're you doing up, Morgan?" Pepper asks, turning around and finding her daughter standing in the doorway.

"Can't sleep," she mumbles tiredly.

"Bad dreams?"

Morgan just shrugs, and Pepper is again struck by how much she looks like Tony. Her heart aches and she closes her eyes for just a moment to gather herself.

"What are you doing?"

"Paperwork," Pepper answers, holding out her arms. Morgan obliges the silent request and climbs up onto her lap, immediately snuggling into her mother's arms.

"Daddy said paperwork was the worst."

Pepper chuckles. "He never did like paperwork. Always left it for me to do," she replies, tickling Morgan lightly.

Morgan giggles as she squirms before melting back into her mother's embrace. "What's it for?"

Pepper's gaze drifts down to the papers on the desk as she ghosts her fingers over the text. Her heart aches again, this time for a different loss.

"You remember your Aunt Natasha?" Morgan nods. "Well she was the one who did the paperwork for the people helping kids that don't have parents to look after them."

"But she's gone now," Morgan murmurs and buries her head in her mother's shoulder.

Pepper's heart clenches again painfully. Her daughter had experienced far too much death for such a young age.

"That's right," Pepper replies softly as she begins to stroke her daughter's head gently. "And I want to honour her and the work she did, so I'm renaming the place that helps those kids."

Morgan doesn't reply right away, and as Pepper looks down at her daughter she thinks of a red-headed girl who'd suffered so very much but had still grown up to be a hero. She thinks of the woman who had saved her life, Tony's life, and Rhodey's life once upon a time, and had become a good friend to her and Tony. She thinks of the woman who gave up everything for a _chance _to save everyone else.

"What's it gonna be called now?" Morgan's question startles her out of her thoughts.

"The Natasha Romanoff Foundation."

"That's nice," Morgan says. "People will remember her that way. Like they remember daddy."

"Yeah," Pepper croaks out, emotion choking her again. "That's exactly right."

"Are you sad, Mommy?" Morgan asks, reaching a hand up to wipe away a tear from Pepper's cheek.

Pepper smiles at the loving gesture. "Yeah," she admits.

"You miss Daddy?"

"Every single day."

"Me too." A pause. "Do you miss Aunt Tasha too?"

Pepper nods and feels her throat tighten even further with emotion. The memory of Tony's phone call shortly after they returned from their time traveling flickers in her mind. She remembers the feeling of shock when he'd told her they had lost Nat.

"Very much," Pepper manages to get out, nodding sadly as memories of time spent with Natasha over the years begin to float to the surface.

"Me too," Morgan replies softly. "She was cool."

"She was, wasn't she?" Pepper says with a chuckle through the handful of tears that had escaped. "But you need to get to bed, little miss."

Morgan doesn't say anything as she snuggles her head further into Pepper's arms.

"You go to bed and I'll tell you a story about Daddy and Aunt Tasha. Deal?"

Morgan's head pops up and she smiles. "Deal!" she says as she drops out of Peppers arms and bounds out of the office.

"All snuggled in?" Pepper asks from the doorway after following her to her room. Morgan nods. "Okay...did Daddy ever tell you about the time Aunt Natasha reprogrammed his suit to play Russian music randomly?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's been one of my favourites to write. seems every time I went back to edit it, I was inspired to add a bit more.
> 
> as always, your thoughts, comments, and feedback are welcomed and appreciated. always nice to hear what folks think.
> 
> still more to come...


	11. We Have What We Have When We Have It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda talks with Clint, finds out how Natasha came to be a SHIELD agent, and doles out some words of wisdom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because I like to imagine that Natasha took Wanda under her wing, and that it led to a close friendship.
> 
> enjoy.

"Nice jacket," Clint says with a pained smile.

Wanda's lips curl into a weak smile in reply. Pietro had stolen the jacket for her when they suited up against Ultron along with the Avengers, and Natasha had refused to take it back from her after. Wanda had tried to leave it in her room, and then her office, and even went as far as sneaking it into her car. Every time it appeared back in her room the next day with a note.

_Keep it. It looks better on you anyway._

Now it was the only thing she had left to remember her friend and mentor by. She had started putting together scrapbooks and albums of photos shortly after joining the Avengers, but she'd been forced to leave them behind when Clint had broken her out of her house arrest after Lagos. Then the Compound was left in ruins after Thanos' attack, and with Stark gone, she wasn't sure about the status of FRIDAY, and whether there were even any of her photos to retrieve on the server.

"She was right. It looks good on you," Clint says with a nod.

"I miss her," Wanda whispers as her weak smile falters. Her accent bleeds through clearly as she loses focus, and all she can think of is how Natasha used to tease her about it in an obnoxiously put on Russian accent of her own. She had made it a point to teach Wanda how to lose her accent, but had also taken the time to learn Sokovian. Wanda had been so grateful to have someone to talk to in her mother tongue.

"Yeah," Clint rasps, voice thick with unshed tears and grief bubbling in his chest. "Me too," he says as he wraps an arm around her.

Wanda takes a moment to lean into his hold before standing up straighter. Natasha would've wanted her to be strong. "Laura mentioned you and she are volunteering?"

Clint nods as he pulls away from her. "Yeah, turns out Nat had been running some kind of organization for kids who'd lost their parents because of the Snap. Laura and I are gonna help out a bit," he explains. "Help Nat finish the job," he adds quietly.

Wanda blinks more tears away. Natasha had always teased Clint that he had a penchant for taking in strays. Wanda always thought that the same could be said about her. She _had _taken Wanda under her wing, after all.

"Can I join you?" she asks quietly. It was the least she could do to honour her friend.

"Of course, kid," Clint replies instantly, looking slightly sad at the fact that Wanda had felt the need to ask. "Nat would've liked that."

Wanda feels a fresh rush of guilt and crushing sadness from him, and she closes her eyes to try and stem the tide of the overwhelming emotions. It's evident he's in a great deal of pain over Natasha's death, and frankly Wanda isn't surprised. It had been very clear they were close from the moment she had met them and finding out about her role as aunt to Clint's kids had only further solidified that. The two of them shared a tight bond, and losing her had left him without his other half in some respects.

It takes Wanda a moment to get a handle on the swell of emotions, but once she does she opens her eyes and finds him staring mindlessly at the horizon.

"You're in agony," she says sadly, holding in a wince as his emotions flare once more.

Clint stiffens and his gaze shifts to meet hers. She's startled by the fierceness she finds there. "I lost my best friend, my wife lost the woman she thought of as her sister, and my kids lost their aunt. Of course I'm in agony." His words are clipped and defensive, and his tone his curt.

Wanda shakes her head, staying firm. "This is more than that. I can feel it."

"Get out of my head," he growls. Wanda can tell it's purely driven by grief, but nevertheless, hearing that darkness in his voice scares her. She's heard whispered words that say he lost himself in the five years she was gone, and she wonders if he's on the verge of losing himself again now.

"I'm not in your head. It's so strong it's _screaming_ at me."

_"Let me go."_

_"No...please no."_

_"...it's okay."_

_"Please..."_

Wanda blinks in shock as she sees Natasha's final moments. Tears prick her eyes as she hears the gentle plea and then the reassuring words. Clint's panic and anxiety sweep through her as he remembers Natasha saying goodbye in her own way. Shock ripples through her as he watches his best friend push off the cliff and fall away from him, gazes locked to each other until just before impact when Clint looks away because he can't bear to see it. Crushing sadness spreads when he looks back down at her body sprawled at the base of the cliff, blood pooling around her head.

Wanda can't help the small gasp that escapes. Her hand comes up to cover her mouth as she feels a wave of nausea at the sight of her former mentor and friend dead on the alien planet.

Clint looks up at the soft gasp and he knows immediately what she's seen.

"I'm sorry, Clint," Wanda apologizes quickly. "I can't help it- Your mind is projecting. It happens sometimes when emotions are very strong. I didn't mean to-"

"I'm sorry you saw it," he interrupts, his voice quiet and rough with grief.

She reaches out to grasp his hand tightly in hers. "Let me help," she offers. He frowns, confusion washing over his features. "I can help you find a happier memory to focus on," she elaborates.

Clint shifts uncomfortably, and Wanda knows that while he trusts her, he will never trust anyone fully when it comes to invasion of his mind. She doesn't blame him.

"As painful as it is seeing it... I don't want to lose it either," Clint explains.

Wanda nods. She understands. As painful as her last memories of Vision are, she wouldn't trade them away for anything. "You want someone to remember her final moments."

He sighs, his gaze having drifted away again. They stay quiet, the evening sounds of the Barton family farm their only soundtrack. Even here, in his safe place, he's unsettled. She supposes having your best friend wrench out of your grasp to her death would do that.

"It was supposed to be me," he whispers, breaking their silence.

Wanda tilts her head sadly. "You know she was never going to let you do that."

"She didn't know if it would work," he says, shaking his head. "She threw herself off that cliff not knowing if we'd get everyone back. If it hadn't worked...she'd have died for nothing, and I would have _nothing _left."

"She was going to do everything in her power to save her family, and get you back to Laura and the kids, even if it wasn't a sure thing. You know that."

Clint is quiet for a moment as he ponders her words. "She never felt like it was enough," he says finally. "She saved so many people, but all she could remember were all the things they made her do."

Wanda's mind drifts to a conversation from years prior, shortly after she'd joined the Avengers.

_"It never goes away, you know."_

_Wanda looks up, startled by Natasha's voice. She hadn't realized she'd come into the room. "What doesn't go away?"_

_"The guilt."_

_Wanda gaze falls to her hands, which have begun to twist in her lap, hints of red swirling around her fingers. She was learning very quickly that Natasha was eerily perceptive. So much so that Wanda often wondered if she had some sort of mind-reading power of her own._

_"It doesn't go away, but you find ways of managing it. You find ways to try and even the score."_

_"Ultron ruined my home, and I helped him do it. All those people…you, Captain Rogers, Dr. Banner, Stark, Thor...I've hurt so many people."_

_"You're not the only one with a dark past. We all have our demons, and I know that you know that. You were in our heads, after all."_

_Wanda winces, but Natasha waves it off. "I don't say that to make you feel guilty. I say it because it's true. Think back and I think you'll realize that we all have our demons that we're battling against. Some of us have had more success in quieting them and finding ways of managing it."_

_"How do I make up for all that hurt?"_

_"You can't," Natasha says succinctly. Wanda winces again. She was also learning how blunt Natasha could be. "But you're taking steps to find ways to even out the balance. You fought against Ultron, saving the people of Sokovia and saving the team too. And you're here with us now to continue protecting people. Maybe you won't ever feel like it's balanced, but you can know that you're trying, and that you're doing everything you can to try and make it right."_

The memory drifts away and Wanda wonders if Natasha felt like she'd done enough to balance her ledger. She wonders if saving _trillions_ was enough in her eyes to make up for the deaths she'd been forced to deal out. She wonders if Natasha had ever felt as comfortable with who she was as she portrayed to everyone. She wonders if she ever thought herself redeemable.

"I just keep reliving it," Clint says, startling Wanda out of her thoughts. "Over and over and over again. I close my eyes and all I can see is her face as she asked me to let her go and reassured me it was okay. She was convincing me to let her die and she was comforting _me_."

Wanda feels sick as his mind inadvertently projects the scene again, this time focused on her face. She understands what he's saying - the expression on Natasha's face was heart-breaking. It was acceptance and fear and determination and sadness all rolled into one. It was a plea for him to let her do it, and to forgive himself for the guilt she knew he'd feel.

"She was younger than you when I first met her," Clint continues, and Wanda finds herself surprised by the fact that he's sharing so much. He'd never particularly been one to share willingly; provide a shoulder and an ear to listen, absolutely, but it was rare for him to offer feelings and emotions of his own. Wanda always assumed it was a by-product of being a spy and assassin.

"She was just a teenager. I mean, she'd lived a lot of life in her years, and she'd seen more shit than any person should ever see, but she was just a kid. And when she looked up at me, she looked so damn young. Looked the exact damn same as when she was dangling from that goddamned cliff even though it was decades later."

"How _did_ you meet?" she asks gently, hoping the detour into a more pleasant part of their history would help him cope.

She's shocked when he barks out a laugh. "Nat never told you?"

Wanda shakes her head. "You know she was not one to share often. We were close and she told me some things, yes, but this...I always thought this was too personal for her to share with me. It was _your _story."

"I think she'd want you to know," he says after a thoughtful moment, a small, sad smile curling on his lips. "She was pretty fond of you, and I think she'd trust you with it."

Wanda mirrors his smile and gestures for him to begin.

"She'd been active for a bit by the time SHIELD pieced together her winding path of death and destruction. Details on her were sketchy at best and her kills were all over the place, but there was enough intel to piece something together. They gave me a folder of everything they knew about her, which was pretty damn thin by the way, and told me to take her out."

Wanda eyes widen. "They sent you to kill her?!"

Clint nods, a fond smile spreading that has Wanda trying to keep her jaw from dropping in surprise. That was _far _from the reaction she'd expected. "You have to understand, by the time I started tracking her, she'd racked up over seventy confirmed kills."

Wanda's eyes widen further. She knew Natasha's past was dark, and that she'd been forced to do many horrendous things, but she hadn't imagined _that_ level of darkness. And at so young an age...

"I tracked her for months. I knew I had to be careful. If she caught the slightest whiff of me following her I knew I'd be dead before I even had the chance to try and take her out.

"Finally, after six, maybe seven months of following her around in the distant shadows, I had a chance to get the drop on her. She'd been getting sloppy, and I figured she was arrogant enough to think she didn't have to worry about anyone going after her. Her reputation had been enough to keep the small players far away, and even held off most of the bigger players too. But she hadn't counted on SHIELD's willingness to be patient."

Wanda blinks as she processes his words. She turns her attention to him, trying to determine if the escape away from Natasha's final moments was doing any good. She can see that he seems less burdened than he had before, but she knows from experience these moments of respite can be fleeting. And she certainly wasn't naive enough to believe he had come to terms with losing Natasha after just a few minutes of conversation.

"She'd been out doing recon for a hit she was set to do later in the week and I broke into her place, set things up, and then got the hell outta dodge to wait for her to get back."

"Surely she would've noticed someone had been in there," Wanda says, unable to believe that the Black Widow, who looked over her shoulder constantly and was right on that razor thin edge of being paranoid, wouldn't notice someone had been in her place.

"I watched her set up all her booby traps so I could get past them and get them back up before leaving. I told you, she hadn't counted on someone being patient enough to stay far enough away for so long."

Wanda nods, but is still unconvinced.

"So when I get the notification that she's on her way back, I go back in and hide, making sure to keep all her defences intact. She comes back in and I get the drop on her. We fight brutally, and eventually she gets my weapons out of my hands and is pointing a gun at my face."

Wanda's eyes are wide. She _knows_ that they both survive and end up as best friends, and yet somehow she's still nervous to hear his next words.

"But she didn't know I had access to her place earlier, when I'd hidden a small, remote crossbow controlled by a ring on my finger. One squeeze and she's hit with a dart. It's enough to get her to drop the gun, and then the tables have turned.

"So I'm standing there, staring down the Black Widow while pointing a gun at her head. And somehow I hadn't realized until that exact moment just how young she was. I knew she was petite because I'd seen her from a distance, but I never imagined that she was still just a kid. I remember thinking that she couldn't be more than 13, maybe 14 years old. It was startling to see such hardened eyes on such a young face."

Wanda's mind brings forward a blur of images that she'd seen when she had sent Natasha spiraling into the darkest parts of her mind for Ultron. But before she can delve too deeply into them, Clint is grabbing her hand and placing it on his temple.

"Go ahead," he says softly. Wanda eyes him warily. "I want you to," he adds with a reassuring nod of his head.

She reaches out tentatively with her powers and finds the memory right on the surface.

_Natasha is on the ground, pressing her hand to the bleeding wound in her shoulder from the bolt that had gone right through and embedded in the door frame behind her. She's staring up at him, utter exhaustion and defeat in her eyes. But Clint doesn't understand, because he knows that she doesn't give up. He's certain that the word defeat isn't even in her vocabulary._

"_Do it," she says._

_Tired, dead eyes stare back at him as he distantly marvels at how perfect the American accent she'd used on an op was, given the distinctly Russian lilt to her actual speech. His hand is steady, but his mind is whirling as he tries to piece it all together._

"_DO IT," she says louder, with enough conviction to actually make him believe that she wants him to kill her._

"_Why?"_

_Her brow arches. "Why not?" she counters. "It is your mission, yes?"_

"_You didn't answer my question."_

_She swallows and winces as she takes her hand off the wound. "I don't have to. I know you've been watching me for months. I know you know why."_

_Clint blinks. She'd known he had been tracking her. She'd known and she hadn't done a damn thing about it. She hadn't been getting sloppy...she'd been inviting him in. He thinks of all the opportunities she'd had to take him out and his stomach drops._

_But then he thinks of the small, ever so brief moments that had caused him to question her loyalty - saving a child from being the one to discover her father's brutally massacred body, fighting a would-be thief away from a woman with young children, buying a meal for a couple of homeless kids. After each one she'd gone on to complete a brutal act of violence, and Clint had been left to try and make sense of the motivations._

_And then he thinks of her reactions to receiving new orders in those unmarked envelopes, and he understands the look in her eyes._

"_You're tired," he concludes. "Why keep doing their bidding?"_

_She is quiet for a moment before answering. "Not all chains are physical."_

_He blinks and reads between the lines. "What do they have on you?"_

_She shakes her head. "They have _ _ **me** _ _."_

_He frowns. "You have no permanent on-site handler. You're skilled enough to have slipped away and disappeared months ago. You're smart enough to be able to stay off their radar indefinitely."_

_Another shake of her head. "Not all chains are physical," she repeats, this time tapping her head._

_His eyes widen. Shit. She didn't mean...brainwashing? His minds cycles back to those loose reports of the Red Room. They'd suspected her training had been similar, but SHIELD had thought it defunct after the fall of the USSR. Apparently it was still running...or at least, had been for her childhood...if you could even call it that. He'd heard stories of their methods - they made his shitty childhood look idyllic by comparison. Suddenly those brief moments of wavering loyalty followed by brutally violent returns to her regular behaviour make sense. She's been trying to fight off some sort of conditioning for god knows how long._

"_What do you want?" he asks._

_Her brow furrows, as though puzzled by the very notion of being asked such a question. She doesn't answer and he scrutinizes her face. He understands the specific kind of exhaustion in her eyes. He'd once upon a time been a victim of it before Coulson and Fury had pulled him out of it._

"_You want out?"_

"_That is not up to me," she answers with a shake of her head. He thinks maybe she actually looks sad about that answer._

"_It is if I'm granting it to you," he counters. "And the way I see it, there's no way you go back to your old life after this, because I either put a bullet in your brain, or I put down my gun and you come with me."_

"_The only difference is where I die. Here, or the SHIELD facility you take me to."_

_He shakes his head. "I'm making a call. They respect me enough to trust that."_

"_Are you sure about that? You know what I have done. You know who I am."_

_He ignores her words. "What's it gonna be?"_

_She holds his gaze and blinks twice before exhaling heavily. "There are handcuffs in that drawer," she says quietly, nodding toward the desk behind him._

_He reaches into his pocket and tosses some of SHIELD's reinforced zip ties over to her. "Handcuffs are too easy for you," he counters with a cheeky grin. "Put 'em on and tighten them," he says while gesturing with the gun._

_She nods and does as he asked, pulling the ends with her teeth before holding her hands out to him to further tighten the ties. He does, and it's then that he notices the scars on her wrists. He swallows to banish the lump in his throat growing with the darkening thoughts in his mind about how those scars got there…_

"_You got a first aid kit here?"_

"_In kitchen, second drawer by fridge."_

_He tilts his head slightly as her accented words rattle around his mind before he nods and gestures again with the gun. "Go ahead." But he can see the pain she's trying to conceal and decides to go for broke. "Actually, I'll get it," he says, striding over to the kitchen before he can change his mind. When he turns around again, he's relieved that she hasn't moved. "Let's get you cleaned up, yeah? Can't have you bleeding out before I give my superiors the heart attack of the century," he quips._

The memory fades away and Wanda eases out of his mind. She meets his gaze and finds a haunted expression on his face. "Clint…" Wanda tries gently

"She didn't get to live," he says brokenly with a sad shake of his head. "She spent years under their control, and then she got out and fought so hard to be her own person. And then it turned out she was just working for Hydra all along," he spits bitterly.

"But she did live, Clint. All that time she spent with you, and Laura, and the kids...that was Natasha. Not the Black Widow. Not Agent Romanoff. Not the Avenger. It was _Natasha_."

Another shake of his head. "It wasn't enough."

"It never is," Wanda replies gently, thinking of Pietro and of Vision and everyone else stolen away too soon. "But we have what we have when we have it," she adds, hearing Natasha's voice echoing in her mind from years before telling her the same thing.

A beat of silence. "When did you get so wise?" he asks then, as a small smile creeps onto his face.

"Well, you learn a thing or two when you have great mentors," she answers, holding his gaze pointedly. She'd learned a lot from both of them in their short time together, and she knows that a lot of what Natasha had taught her she'd once learned from Clint.

He smiles and holds out his arms for a hug. She obliges and holds him tightly. "I miss her," he says quietly.

"Me too," Wanda agrees. "Me too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one changed a bunch from its first iteration. seemed like once I started it, different ideas and offshoots just kept popping up in my mind. I'm sure if I kept it sitting in my drafts for another week it would've changed again...
> 
> as always, your thoughts, feedback, and comments are welcomed and encouraged.
> 
> more to come...


	12. There Should Be Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura has a realization, and tries to come to terms with losing Natasha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because the glimpses of the friendship between Laura and Natasha that we saw in the films were not enough, and I firmly believe they were close friends.
> 
> enjoy.

"Clint," Laura says.

"Yeah babe?" he answers distractedly.

"You said you haven't been back here in years, right?"

"Uh, yeah, why?"

"It's clean."

He frowns in confusion as he turns to meet her worried gaze. "What's clean?"

"The house," she explains. "There's no rotten food in the fridge or cupboards, no garbage, no dishes in the sink, nothing left from the picnic…" she ticks off on her fingers. "And the yard isn't absolutely overgrown like it should be."

His eyes widen as he understands what she's telling him. And it takes him just seconds to piece the likely explanation together. "Nat…" he whispers, hands rising to hold his head as it drops in grief.

She had suspected it, but until Clint uttered her name, Laura hadn't quite believed it. She feels her eyes fill as the realization sinks in that even though Clint had been lost and drifting in grief, Nat had still been taking care of things.

Laura blinks rapidly and her breaths quicken as she fights to steady her emotions.

_Nat had been taking care of __**her home**__, _Laura thinks sadly. Even with all the responsibilities and expectations she'd had weighing on her shoulders, she had made sure to take care of things for them.

"I don't know how she kept her shit together," Clint says with a shake of his head, his expression miserable as he thinks of his late friend. "I fucking lost it, and she was running the Avengers, keeping Steve and Tony from killing each other, working on a way to fix everything, and apparently she found time to fly across the country and clean my fucking house."

Laura reaches over to grab his arm and squeeze it soothingly. "Nat liked to take care of the people she cared about," she offers softly, feeling the weight of those words.

But even as she soothes her husband, Laura feels her own emotions threaten to overflow. Being in the house would've been a painful reminder of what Nat had lost, and yet she still went in. She had probably had dozens of things pulling at her attention, but she'd still made time to clean the house.

"God, I didn't deserve her."

"Clint-"

"She was too good to me. She put up with all my shit, saved my life god only knows how many times, and kept me grounded. I didn't deserve that."

"You did, Clint," Laura says patiently. "Don't forget you saved her once too. She got to where she was because you made that call all those years ago."

Clint just shakes his head and heads out to the barn, grabbing his bow on the way. Laura lets out a sigh. She knows not to expect him back anytime soon. A punishing workout is the only real way he knows how to work things out. He's been through the wringer, what with battling aliens and losing his best friend, and he hasn't really slept yet, but Laura knows he'll still be out there for hours firing arrow after arrow.

* * *

"Clint?" Laura asks as they're lying in bed, hours after the initial realization of Nat cleaning their house.

"Yeah?"

"I think Nat came here often during those five years," she says softly.

He turns to face her and a gentle frown creases his brow. "What makes you say that?"

"It's _too_ clean," she replies, watching as his frown deepens. "Even if Nat cleaned everything shortly after you left, five years is a long time to be left untouched. There should be dust."

"Maybe she cleaned it more recently," he offers, but Laura can see in his expression he doesn't believe his own words.

She shakes her head. "Even if she'd cleaned everything recently, there still would've been traces of being untouched for five years. The sheets and the rooms would still be musty...believe me, that smell is not easy to get rid of. And the yard work would've taken more than a day to handle if it had been left that long…"

Her eyes well with tears as she pictures Nat moving through the empty house, dusting surfaces, cleaning and changing the sheets, and airing out the rooms.

Clint turns over abruptly without saying anything and picks up his phone, apparently intending to make a call despite the late hour. He puts it on speaker and lays the phone between them.

_"Hello?"_

"Hey, Cap. It's Clint."

_"Hey, Clint," he replies tiredly. "How's your family?"_

"We're good," Laura answers. "Thank you for everything you did, Captain."

_"Please, call me Steve," he answers with a soft exhale. "And…I'm sorry."_

"Got a question for you," Clint says quickly, not letting the apology and offer of condolences linger. It's still too fresh.

_"Sure."_

"You were with Nat at the Compound over the last five years, right?"

Steve is silent for a moment. _"Some of the time, yeah. Why?"_

"Do you know if she made any trips to the farm?"

Steve is silent again, and Laura's not sure what to make of it. _"Yes. She did," he answers eventually._

Laura's eyes squeeze shut at the confirmation of her theory. "How often?" she asks softly.

_A sigh. "At least once a month."_

Laura thinks of what Clint's told her about their time heist plan. "When was she here last?"

Steve pauses again, and Laura can tell this time it's hurting him to give the answer. _"The day before we went back in time."_

"She told me she was tying up a couple of loose ends," Clint says, his mind going back to that last night. "I asked if she wanted me to come with, but she told me to get my head straight."

_"She wanted to make sure things would be ready for Laura and the kids when they came back," Steve explains softly. "I offered to go with her too, but she shrugged it off and asked me to keep an eye on you."_

"Goddamnit, Nat," Clint breathes out. Silence envelops them all for a beat before Clint recovers enough to say, "Thanks, Cap. Let me know when you need me back there."

_"Take your time. Everything's still in flux here."_

"Okay. Take care of yourself, yeah?"

_"Yeah, you too," he replies. "And it was nice to speak with you again, Mrs. Barton."_

Laura smiles weakly at his formality. "Laura, please. And likewise."

The call ends and the ensuing silence feels suffocating. All Laura can think about is the fact that Nat had washed the sheets she was lying on top of less than a day before. She'd made the beds, cleaned the house and the yard, and then gone off to save the world, not knowing she'd never see the house again. Not knowing that they'd never see her again. Not knowing that she was going to leave them all hopelessly grappling for some sort of grounding as they tried to cope with losing a member of their family.

* * *

Laura smooths out the front of her skirt, and then takes a moment to tame a few stray hairs that are blowing in the gentle breeze. She takes a deep breath and then lets her gaze rise to the freshly planted tree intended to honour her friend. A frown creases her brow as she realizes that _friend _isn't the right word. Not at all. She'd known Nat for almost twenty years and in that time had seen the highs, the lows, and everything in between. She'd helped stitch up wounds, sat beside her as she tried to come to terms with crushing nightmares, helped introduce her to the ins and outs and what it was to have a family, held her gently as she suffered splitting headaches while fighting off the last dredges of the Red Room's brainwashing and conditioning, watched as she grew into her role as aunt, and cried on her shoulder when she brought home a broken and bruised but still alive Clint.

_She's more than a friend; she's family, _Laura thinks to herself_. _She gulps as the truth chokes her and she ponders whether it should be a '_**was**_' family instead of an 'is' family.

She closes her eyes against the tears that are threatening to fall and tries to steady herself. Nat had always managed to come out of even the most dire and impossible circumstances, but this time Laura knows she's not coming back. She knows it deep in her bones, and yet somehow a small part of her is still waiting for Nat to pop up behind them all and utter some teasing remark, flashing that smirk she'd favoured so much.

Laura glances over to check on the kids, and finds that Wanda has joined Clint and them. With the knowledge that they are safe and being watched over, she turns her attention back to the tree.

"Hi, Nat," she says softly.

Listening to everyone murmur their thanks to Nat for what she'd done and share brief stories of their time together had been beautiful, but also made Laura's heart ache. When Clint had called her almost twenty years before, asking if he could bring home a young Russian assassin that he'd chosen to spare the life of rather than follow orders and kill her, Laura had been nervous. She trusted Clint's judgment and knew he wouldn't put her in harm's way, but the prospect of having a former enemy spy and assassin under her roof unnerved her.

_"She's a good kid, babe."_

_"I don't doubt it. But she can still kill me forty ways from Sunday."_

_"She won't."_

_"You don't know that, Clint."_

_"I do, Laura. She's a good kid who had a shit childhood," he counters. "If you can even call it that," he adds bitterly._

_Laura sighs. "I trust you, Clint, I do, but this…"_

_"I'm not going to force you to do anything, babe. If you say no, then I leave her here. But she's only been off base a handful of times for supervised excursions over the past year. She's stuck here the rest of the time, and almost no one will talk to her. I think meeting you will do her some good. Lord knows it did me a hell of a lot of good."_

_She lets out another sigh. "She's really changed?"_

_"She has," Clint confirms. "She's wracked with guilt over everything they made her do, and she's hell bent on making up for it."_

_"And you trust her?"_

_"I do. She spends every second of our visits into the real world checking for threats against us."_

_Laura blinks. "Was that supposed to make me feel better?"_

_"_ _ **Us** _ _, babe. She's looking for threats against _ _ **us** _ _. Not just her, both of us."_

_Laura bites her lip as she thinks hard about what he's asking, because she knows that after this there's no going back. The fact that Clint wants to bring her home means he's willing to share his most sacred of secrets with this girl. He must see __**something**_ _in her, otherwise he wouldn't have even brought it up._

_"Okay," she says finally. "But she brings no weapons with her, and I get to meet her somewhere else before we take her to the house."_

_"Deal."_

* * *

_Laura sees Clint's silhouette appear in the entrance of the diner they'd agreed to meet in. It's several hours away from their house, a countermeasure in case things go badly. He is certain that she will like Natasha and they'll get along well, but Laura isn't quite so convinced._

_A goofy grin spreads across his face when he spots her and it's only then that Laura notices the petite girl next to him with bright red hair. Her expression is pure apprehension, and Laura finds herself a bit surprised. If she were as good a spy as Clint had said, hiding her emotions would be second nature...and yet here she was looking decidedly nervous._

_"Hey," Clint says with a nod. "Laura, meet Natasha. Natasha, meet Laura," he says with a vague gesture between the two of them, his trademark grin wide on his face despite the near palpable tension in the air._

_"Hi," Laura says gently as she takes in the sight of this 16 year old assassin. "It's nice to meet you."_

_Natasha's eyes are darting around, no doubt cataloguing exits, possible vulnerabilities, and identifying what could be used as a weapon. It's something Clint has always done, and so Laura recognizes the signs easily._

_"Nice to meet you, too" Natasha says finally, locking gazes with Laura._

_Laura finds herself a bit unnerved by what she finds in Natasha's eyes. They are practically void of emotion, but have such a depth of pain that Laura feels a protective instinct forming. Despite being well aware that the girl in front of her is responsible for dozens of assassinations, all Laura wants to do is wrap her up in a tight hug, and already she is beginning to understand why Clint made the choice he did._

_Clint gestures for Natasha to slide into the booth and she does so after only a brief moment of hesitation._

_"So how are you finding America so far?" Laura asks, doing her best to ease the inescapable tension that has settled into the air._

_"It is very loud," she answers, and Clint chuckles. "But is very nice."_

_Laura hadn't realized it when she had spoken before, but she's surprised to hear the traces of a Russian accent and cadence in her voice. Clint had mentioned more than once how her American accent had been impeccable… But then again, perhaps it was simply a matter of comfort to be herself._

_"Quite different from Russia, I imagine," Laura offers._

_Natasha nods. "Clint explains things to me. He says this is my American culture education."_

_Laura's eyes slide over to Clint, who has sat himself next to Natasha. She finds a slightly guilty and yet also somehow unapologetic expression on his face._

_"I'm afraid to ask what he considers to be an American cultural education," Laura remarks dryly._

_Natasha's brows furrow ever so slightly. "Movies, books, and music," she lists, "and food."_

_"And how do you find the food here?"_

_"Everything is big. And greasy."_

_Clint just grins. "All the worthwhile stuff is."_

_"Don't believe him when he tells you ketchup is meant to go on everything. Some things don't need it."_

_A small smile curls on Natasha's lips. "I told him this. He didn't accept it."_

_Laura finds herself chuckling and Natasha's smile spreads a bit wider. "Not to worry, I'll make sure he doesn't lead you astray."_

_"Thank you," Natasha says gratefully with a nod. "This is very kind of you."_

_An hour later, Laura feels significantly more at ease. Natasha is clearly nervous, but is painfully polite and respectful, and Laura is really starting to understand why Clint had wanted to bring her home with him. There is just something about her that is tugging at Laura's heart._

_"Do you want dessert, Natasha?" Clint asks, holding out the dessert menu._

_Natasha's eyes widen slightly. "I do not need," she replies with a shake of her head._

_"I asked if you __**wanted**_ _dessert," Clint counters gently. "Remember-"_

_"I can have things I want," she finishes, shame colouring her expression ever so briefly. "Yes, I remember."_

_Laura feels her heart clench at the thought that Natasha had once not been allowed to choose things for herself, and the words tumble out of her mouth before she can even realize it. "Let's have dessert at the house."_

_Clint's gaze slides to meet hers, and his eyebrow rises in a silent question of 'You sure?'_

_"We have all that ice cream you bought last time you were home, plus that cheesecake that's frozen, and I made an apple pie this morning that we could have," Laura continues. In for a penny, in for a pound._

_"I do not want to be a burden," Natasha hedges. "I can go back to base, Clint."_

_"No, no, please," Laura says, reaching out and grabbing Natasha's hands that are sitting on the table between them. Natasha flinches but Laura pretends not to notice and makes sure to stay relaxed. "Clint will eat the whole thing otherwise."_

_"She's right," Clint says, trying to stay relaxed himself while still trying to coax Natasha into coming. "In one sitting no less."_

_Natasha pulls her hands away and back into her lap. "If is not too much trouble…"_

_Laura waves it off. "Of course not. Have you ever had apple pie?"_

_"No," Natasha says with a short shake of her head. "Is very American dessert, yes?"_

_Clint laughs. "Oh yeah, about as American as you can get."_

* * *

Laura's mind drifts back to the present, and the tree comes into focus again. Nat had come so far from that young, apprehensive girl. She'd grown up into a strong and fierce woman who never let anyone feel sorry for her, but could also be incredibly gentle, thoughtful, and kind. It had taken her _years_ but she'd carved out a person from the wreckage that the Red Room had left in their wake, and moulded it into someone she began to feel comfortable as.

"Thank you," Laura whispers shakily. "You promised me once that you would do everything in your power to make sure he came home...and you did. You made sure he could come home to us. You made sure I'd have my husband, and my kids would have their father. And I- I can't ever thank you enough for that."

Laura's hands smooth out her skirt again, even though there are no wrinkles. The action is almost calming, giving her hands something to do other than wringing together or tear at her nails.

"But I'm angry with you, Natasha," she whispers fiercely. "How could you?! Didn't you know that we loved you? That losing you was going to crush us? Family doesn't pull shit like this," she chastises. "Didn't you know how much you mattered to us?" She pauses, feeling herself start to choke on the grief that's bubbling up and over. "How much you mattered to _me_?"

Laura knows it's the grief talking. She knows she isn't _actually _angry with Nat. But all she wants to do is scream at her that she shouldn't have been so casual with her own life. That she should have felt worthy of living and surviving. That she shouldn't have just thrown away her life, because it meant something. It meant a whole goddamned lot. Laura had spent the better part of almost twenty years trying to teach Natasha that she was more than what the Red Room had made her, that she was her own person, and that she mattered and was loved. And to hear that she'd chosen to give up all of that...

She sighs shakily. "I know you did it to save your family," she says, her anger having already begun to fade because she knows Nat did what she did out of love. Love for Clint, and her, and the kids, and the whole Avengers team. "But it- it wasn't supposed to be you. You went through enough shit in your life. You shouldn't have had to do this too."

Laura pauses as she shakes her head. "It's not fair that I had to lose you to keep my husband," she whispers. "That was never supposed to be the deal."

She wipes the tears that have escaped and lets out another shaky breath. She tries not to think about the what ifs of having Nat back, because she knows it would mean her kids would grow up without their father. And she hates that scenario, but she hates the one where her kids have to grow up without their Aunt Nat too. A new wave of anger rushes over her at that thought, because it's just _not fair_.

"I can't believe you're gone. I just- I'm-"

She stops abruptly as it becomes too much, the tidal wave of grief washing over her. Her eyes close as the tears begin falling again and her chin trembles with emotion as she tries to get the words out. There's _so much_ she wants to say, but the grief is choking her and she can't find the right words.

She takes a deep, steadying breath. "I'm so grateful I got to know you. I can't imagine our lives without you. You were the best aunt, friend, and sister we could've asked for. I don't know what we did to deserve you...but we were so lucky to have you in our family."

Laura's gaze lifts up to the sky for a moment, finding clouds blurred by tears, before it drops back down to the tree in front of her. "I hope you know that we loved you, Nat," she manages to say, grief coating the words so they feel wrong as they leave her mouth. "So, so much," she whispers.

Suddenly Laura's knees feel weak, but before she can even start to fall she feels strong arms encircle her from behind.

"She knew," Clint whispers in her ear. "She did what she did because she loved us."

Laura's head shakes in denial. "I should have told her more. She always looked a bit uncomfortable when the kids told her, so I didn't say it much. But I should've told her all the time. After all the shit she went through as a kid...I should have told her every single damn day."

"She knew, babe."

"She deserved to hear it," Laura replies stubbornly.

"It was in everything you did for her, Laura. Making sure her room was ready when she came to visit, making her favourite meals and desserts, sending her videos of the kids and emails with updates on your life, mailing her drawings from the kids… She heard it in every one of those things and a million others that you did for her."

Laura's head tips forward as her body sags further. "I can't believe she's gone."

"Me neither," Clint murmurs.

"We had almost twenty years with her, but..."

"It doesn't feel like long enough. I know."

They fall into silence and Laura finds herself wondering what Nat had felt and thought as she dangled from Clint's hand on the side of the cliff. She wonders if she thought of her family and nights spent in front of the firepit at the farmhouse. She wonders if she thought of all those Sunday afternoons spent sharing bottles of wine as they talked about anything and everything, or the seemingly endless snowball fights with Cooper and Lila every Christmas, or the countless times the kids had fallen asleep draped all over her while watching a movie, or constantly teasing Clint about his latest renovation project going awry.

And Laura wonders if she thought about meeting a strange woman in a diner and later that day having her first taste of apple pie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't type fast enough when I was writing this one. ideas and scenes just kept popping into my head, and I couldn't leave it alone. it's been sitting in my drafts folder for a long time, and it wasn't until the final scene of Laura in front of the tree popped into my head that I finally felt I had an ending for it. the friendship between them is one of my favourites, and is actually the first one I ever wrote about in this fandom.
> 
> anyway...liked it? hated it? did it tug at the heart strings?  
do let me know - feedback is ever so appreciated.


	13. She Was Good People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick Fury reminisces, and an impromptu meeting of former SHIELD agents happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because I like to think Nat's death was hard for Fury to deal with, and I was eager to branch out into some other perspectives!
> 
> Enjoy.

Nick pours out some vodka into the glass and stares at it, remembering the handful of times over the years that he and Natasha had sat down and had a drink together. It hadn't been a thing they did frequently, saved for only those moments that they both implicitly agreed required it. Toasting the success of an exceptionally difficult op. Celebrating another of Barton's family milestones. Drowning frustrations after a mission gone sideways through no fault of their own. And on those even rarer occasions when he noticed a particular haunted look creeping into in her eyes.

Nick downs the liquid in one go and then pours out some more, even as the first drink continues to burn its way down. He'd never understood her taste for the stuff, instead preferring a good bourbon, but drinking anything other than vodka on the day of her funeral just felt wrong. He breathes in deeply and leans back in the chair, allowing himself a moment to think back over the years.

Natasha had come into SHIELD thanks to the combination of Clint Barton's infuriating penchant for insubordination and his tendency to trust his instincts. At the time Nick had thought him a fool for falling into her trap, but looking back now it's easy to see that Barton recruiting her was one of the most significant things to happen during his SHIELD career. She had turned out to be not only be a valued asset and exemplary agent for SHIELD, but also an integral part of the Avengers saving the world a few times over...hell, this time she'd given her life to save the goddamn _universe_.

But she'd been more than just an agent of SHIELD and an Avenger. She'd worked hard to be more than that...more than someone who would blindly follow orders, and whose only real care was for her work. He knew the Barton family adored her and counted her as one of their own, and she'd been a close friend of Maria Hill, Phil Coulson, and Melinda May, not to mention the Avengers. So yeah, she had been more than just an agent.

What exactly she'd been to _him_ was a little tougher to define, but he knows that he'd cared about her. His reputation meant most people believed him to be cold, detached, and ruthless, but Natasha Romanoff had earned his loyalty and the small amount of trust he was comfortable giving out to those who were worthy. He'd watched her grow from the teenager that had been through hell and then some, into a successful agent and Avenger, loyal friend, and loving aunt to Barton's kids. He'd been so damn proud of what she'd overcome, and as far as he was concerned comeback stories didn't come any better than hers.

He takes a sip from the glass, letting his mind drift to the memory of Rogers telling him she'd given her life to help them succeed.

_"Where's Romanoff?" Nick asks, eyes drifting over the smouldering wreckage of the Avengers Compound. After reappearing, he and Hill had quickly assessed that the Avengers Compound was ground zero for getting an explanation of what had happened, and headed there immediately._

_Rogers' expression hardens and he shakes his head as he replies, "She didn't make it."_

_Fury's stomach drops. It's not the first time he's lost an agent, or even a friend, but this one _ _ **hurts. ** _ _He'd watched Natasha grow up with his own eyes, and had been fond of her. She and him were cut from the same cloth in a lot of ways, and he'd always felt a sort of kinship with her for that reason._

_"How?" he asks, voice rough with the grief that's growing in him. People may have thought him detached and unfeeling, but when it came to his inner circle, he cared a great deal._

_"She sacrificed herself to help us get you all back."_

_Nick holds Steve's gaze for a moment, mind whirring with possibilities. They were in uncharted territory now with the gauntlet that Stark had wielded. "Is there any chance-"_

_"No," Steve interrupts succinctly. "It's permanent."_

_The faint hope he'd held fades instantly. It's a very firm answer, and Cap had never been the type to give up if there was even a small chance...so if he's discounting the possibility, then it's a sure thing. He blows out a breath. People had been trying to kill Natasha Romanoff for practically her whole life, and yet in the end it was her own sacrifice that took her. Some fucking poetic symbolism._

_"I'm sorry," he says, the words feeling useless and inadequate._

_"Yeah," Steve mumbles. "Me too."_

Nick takes a long drink from the glass as he mulls over his thoughts. She'd been a hero, and he'd go to his own grave swearing that to **everybody**. He hadn't always believed in heroes, but his chance meeting with Carol, followed by travelling into space and helping to save what was left of the Skrulls made him begin to believe. And he knew then that the future was going to be a lot more complicated and would require more remarkable people like Carol to defend the Earth.

Truth be told, a couple of master assassins were not on the list to be a part of the Avengers initiative. Objectively, an archer and a former Russian spy had no business being on that team. They were remarkable agents, yes, but the types of threats the initiative was formed to do battle against didn't exactly call for espionage expertise. But circumstances intervened, and Barton and Romanoff had become a part of the founding members of the team. They both helped to save cities, and countries, and planets, and the universe. And they both became heroes, even if neither were comfortable with that label being applied to them.

"Vodka, huh?"

Nick's gaze tips up and finds Maria Hill leaning against the door frame. Her expression is carefully neutral, but Nick can see the cracks. She and Natasha had been close, forming a friendship over shared disdain for people's stupidity (admittedly it was mostly directed to male agents…) and an unwavering drive to always complete the mission. The news of Natasha's death had understandingly shaken Maria's usually calm and stoic demeanour, leaving her a bit unsettled.

"You have something better in mind?" he counters, eyebrow arching in a silent but pointed challenge.

Maria just holds his gaze for a moment before pushing off the doorframe and making her way into the room. She wastes no time in sitting down on the couch across from him and leaning forward to push an empty glass toward him. Nick doesn't hesitate to oblige her request as he pours them each some vodka.

She picks up her glass and holds it up in a silent invitation. Nick mirrors her action and their gazes lock as understanding passes between them before they both throw back their drinks.

* * *

"And the glare she gave you? It was priceless!" Maria says with a short laugh, leaning forward to pour some more vodka into her glass. They'd both loosened up a bit after making their way through most of the bottle, and the stories about Natasha's time in SHIELD were flowing easier now.

"Laugh it up, Hill. Don't think I've forgotten how many times she handed you your ass while sparring."

Maria waves off his words. "There's no proof, Nick."

"Pretty sure it was in the files that Romanoff released," he counters, pointing at her with his hand still holding his glass and gesturing for a refill.

"Whoa," Carol says as she walks into the room and eyes the nearly empty bottle of vodka. "What's going on here?"

"Russian vodka," Maria offers in explanation as she fills his glass again, leaving just a small amount in the bottle.

"We're toasting Romanoff," Nick clarifies as he meets Carol's gaze.

"I'm in," Carol says, striding into the room and sitting next to Nick. Maria slides an empty glass over to her and Carol pours herself the last of the vodka.

Maria frowns. "Can you even get drunk?"

Carol shrugs. "Not with human alcohol."

"It's wasted on you then."

"Not if I'm not aiming to get drunk," she counters with a smirk.

Maria's frown holds for another second before her gaze shifts to the empty bottle, seemingly having decided to let the matter go. "We got anymore of that?"

Nick nods and gestures vaguely to the other room, prompting Maria to get up and leave in search of it.

"Nat was a hell of a woman," Carol says after downing her vodka in one go. "Didn't know what to make of her when I first met her though."

"That makes two of us," Nick replies, allowing a small smile to curl on his lips for just a moment. "We sent Barton to kill her-"

"Kill her?" Carol interrupts, eyes wide with shock. "What exactly happened to SHIELD after I left?"

"It's not like it wasn't warranted," Nick protests. "She was an assassin for the KGB and had been taking out some of our higher profile contacts in Europe."

Carol blinks in shock. "O...kay. How'd she end up working for SHIELD then? Because last I checked, we and the Russians have pretty much never been on good terms…"

"I was getting to that," Nick replies dryly, shooting her a brief look of disapproval for her impatience. She leans back and gestures silently for him to continue. "We sent Barton to kill her since she'd been racking up quite the body count, and instead he comes back with her in tow."

Carol huffs out a laugh. "Bet that went over well."

"Oh, yeah," he replies with a breathy chuckle. "Barton was convinced that she was ready to turn over a new leaf. I was convinced she was playing him, and angling to ruin us."

"Got it," Maria says as she reenters the room, holding another bottle of vodka.

"Good. Now pour," he instructs. Maria rolls her eyes and shakes her head, but does as he asks.

"So what happened next?" Carol asks, throwing back another shot of vodka. Maria glares half-heartedly but refills her glass again.

"After we decided to give her a shot, she had a slew of interrogation sessions, advanced psychological assessments-"

"Oh, she loved those," Maria interjects as she puts down the bottle and leans back into the couch cushions. "She told me once that she found the entire exercise hilarious and resorted to reverse analyzing her shrink. I begged to see the tapes, but she said it was never on the books."

"In short, she was a real pain in the ass," Nick summarizes. "But a valuable pain in the ass. She had intel, and her training was unlike anything we'd ever seen."

"Sounds like a real coup for SHIELD."

"Yeah. But it wasn't perfect."

Carol frowns. "How do you mean?"

"We basically had to teach her how to be a human being," Nick explains. "She was a weapon. Her only real social skills were for manipulation."

Carol's brow furrows in confusion as she leans forward to sit up straighter. "Hang on, I think I'm missing something here. She seemed pretty normal to me. I mean, the stuff after Thanos messed her up pretty good, but it messed _everyone_ up."

"She was raised in a place called the Red Room," Maria explains. "Soviet Russia's peak efforts at perfecting espionage."

"Raised there?"

Nick nods. "Best we could piece together from files and what she'd found out, they took her from her family when she was very young. She never knew her parents. They trained them in anything they could ever need to be an effective spy. Physical endurance, speed, and flexibility, weaponry, different fighting styles, psychological training, languages, computer hacking, torture techniques," Nick listed, ticking off the areas on his fingers. "And they subjected them to extensive psychological conditioning."

Carol's frown deepens. "Brainwashing?" Nick and Maria both nod. "Shit. That's awful."

"Yeah," Maria answers, leaning forward to pour them each some more vodka, "whatever you're thinking? It was worse."

"She was all hard edges, corners, and spikes," Nick offers. "Nothing soft about her, unless you told her it was needed to seduce or get close to a target, then she was sweet as honey. And believe me, watching a 15 year old do that? It's disgusting."

Carol's eyes widen. "15? Jesus."

"Yeah," Nick agrees. "But she learned quickly once we deprogrammed most of that shit out of her."

Carol blinks. "I had no idea…"

"She didn't like to share much about her past. From the moment I met her she was trying to make up for the deaths she had dealt out. Don't think she ever saw it as the deaths that _they made her deal out_ though. It was always on her shoulders. Always red in her ledger."

"She saved trillions this time," Maria points out. "I hope she believed that was more than enough to make up for it."

"Did I miss my invitation to the former SHIELD agents drinking party?"

They all look up to find Clint Barton in the doorway, his watchful gaze clocking every detail in the room. Nick doesn't miss the haunted look in his eyes. It was easy to see that losing his best friend and former partner had _wrecked_ the man.

"Don't take it personally. It was impromptu," Nick replies.

Clint pushes off the door frame he'd been leaning on and makes his way to sit down next to Maria. He meets her gaze and tips his head in a silent request. She snags the second to last glass and pours some vodka for him.

He twirls the glass around a little. "Don't stop on my account," he says, his eyes glued to the swirling liquid.

All three of their gazes linger on him for a moment. It wasn't hard to tell that he was struggling. They all were, in their own way, but it wasn't quite as personal for them as it was for him. He and Natasha had always had a tight bond, having been partners for years and friends for just as long. Hell, she'd become a part of his family. Nick still doesn't know the circumstances of Natasha's death, but the fact that he was _so_ torn up told him that the story had more than a few layers to peel back.

It's Carol who breaks the awkward silence. "She kept busy while you guys were dusted," she says, gesturing to both Nick and Maria. "And while you were, uh, _away_," she adds, nodding at Clint. Nick doesn't miss the hardening of Clint's gaze and his posture stiffening. They are tells the man never allowed himself before half the universe was dusted away, but now he's making no effort to hide them.

"Rogers mentioned she was running what was left of the Avengers," Nick says. "Sounds about right. She was always more of a leader than she gave herself credit for."

"She was _the only_ thing keeping us focused and together. Everyone just wanted to...disappear. But she was persistent, and wanted to make sure the world -well _the universe_ really- was safe." Carol pauses for a moment, almost as though lost in her memories. "I found her one night sitting on the dock watching the sun set with a nearly empty bottle of vodka next to her. We got to talking and I asked her why she was trying to so hard to keep everyone together when it was obvious they wanted to leave it behind. She told me that if she couldn't do anything to bring everybody back, then the least she could do was try to keep things safe for everybody that was left."

Clint, Nick, and Maria are quiet as they let Carol's words sink in.

"She really trusted you," Carol adds, meeting Nick's gaze. "She was the one who found the pager. Rogers told me she was insistent on making sure it stayed powered and could keep sending the message. Said if you'd been trying to contact someone, it was worthwhile trying to find whoever it was."

Nick is a bit surprised to hear the degree to which she had trusted him. His faked death before taking down SHIELD had impacted her more than he had thought it would, and there had been a small rift that opened up between them after that. They still worked together when circumstances had required it and he had still trusted her, but the distance between them had grown and he'd suspected her trust in him had dissipated.

"What else did she do?" Clint asks.

Carol's gaze swings to him, and her expression is mostly unreadable. But there's a hint of disapproval and maybe even accusation in her eyes. Nick files that bit of information away as he begins to realize that there was clearly a lot more about what happened to Clint Barton in the last five years than what folks were saying.

"Aside from making sure everyone here was playing nicely in the sandbox? She started up some organization with Stark to help out the kids that had been orphaned because of the "Snap" or whatever the hell people are calling it."

Nick's eyebrow arches. Last he'd heard Stark hadn't been her biggest fan... "With Stark?"

"Well, with his wife anyway. I think Stark came around eventually on it though."

"Makes sense," Maria says with a shrug. "She always had a soft spot for kids, even if she'd deny it over and over."

"She was good people," Carol adds, her tone softer now.

"Yeah," Nick agrees with a slow nod, as he refills his own glass, and then Carol and Maria's as well. "She was."

"Hell of an agent," Maria adds.

"Hell of a friend," Clint offers, his voice rough. He holds up his glass. "To Nat."

Carol and Maria nod as they hold up their own glasses in a salute to their fallen teammate.

Nick finds Clint's gaze and holds it for a moment as silent understanding passes between them. They'd known her for almost twenty years, and had watched her grow into a hero. He nods as he raises his glass. _Yeah, hers was a comeback story for the motherfucking ages._

"To Natasha," they echo together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> had to get an obligatory MF in there for Samuel L Jackson. ;)
> 
> Enjoy the new perspective? Have an idea for a new one? Let me know, I do so love to hear your feedback and thoughts!
> 
> More to come.


	14. No One Quite Like Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam finds out Natasha's fate and thinks back to who she was to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because after spending all that time together, I think Nat and Sam would've been good friends.
> 
> enjoy.

Sam scans the battlefield below him as he flies overhead, cataloguing positions of enemies and fellow Avengers. It’s impossible to miss the sheer amount of damage that the missiles from Thanos’ ship had caused, what with the once impressive Avengers facility having been reduced to nothing but piles of concrete slabs with flames licking up through them, and dark, acrid smoke clouds everywhere. They’d actually had the upper hand (or rather, they’d been _ starting to get it _) before those missiles had rained down on them. It had been absolutely terrifying and unlike any sort of combat situation he’d ever been in. And that included the battle in Wakanda that had apparently ended with him and half the universe’s population drifting away onto the wind as dust.

But then the _ flying woman _ had torn right _ through _ the giant ship and the tide had turned again. Sam gives his head a little shake as a silent reminder to himself that a flying woman was probably _ not _ the weirdest thing he’d seen, and he refocuses. His gaze snaps over to Stark, who is glowing and-

_ Oh._

There’s a bright flash, and then suddenly alien bodies are disintegrating into nothing right in front of him. He watches as Thanos’ army disappears - apparently for good this time - and leaves the assembly of Avengers sagging with exhaustion. His gaze drifts back to Stark and the realization that the man had sacrificed himself to save everyone blooms in him all at once.

Everyone seems to naturally begin to group together with their friends and comrades, so Sam follows suit and flies over to where Steve is standing. His gaze sweeps over his friend and it takes everything in him to not frown, because the usually immovable Captain America looks like the lightest of breezes could knock him over. It's such a far cry from the unshakeable, solid force he's used to having by his side, but then again this battle had been unlike any other...

“Hey, Cap,” he says with a tired smile as he closes the last bit of distance between them.

“Hey, Sam,” Steve replies. A weak smile curls on his lips for the briefest of moments before it falls away to exhaustion and grief. “It’s really good to see you."

“Likewise," Sam replies as he steps forward to hug his friend carefully, mindful of his injuries. “Thanks for the assist," Steve says as they break apart.

Sam thinks about throwing out a teasing comment, but opts not to. Steve’s expression is too haunted, and his eyes too full of grief. “Any time,” he says instead, giving him a nod.

The de facto leaders of the smaller groups have begun making their way toward Steve, no doubt looking for some instructions, but as Sam watches his friend he realizes that the once seemingly infallible Captain America is absolutely wrecked. He’s seen Steve weary, tired, and even exhausted, but this is so much more than that. He gives it a minute, but when Cap stays silent and just stares ahead almost mindlessly, Sam decides to step in.

“I know everyone is tired, but make sure to get checked out if you’re injured. Let’s get some teams together to do a sweep of the area and make sure we haven’t left anyone behind.”

He’s met with tired nods and murmurs of agreement, and so he begins to assign groups to specific areas of the former battlefield.

“Everyone else...you can head home, I guess. The, uh, sorcerers can help you out with that, I think…” he trails off, looking over to a group of them to his right. He’s met with nods. “Yeah, so if you’re in need of a way home, meet up over here,” he finishes, pointing to the area to his right. "And I know I don't have to say this, but I'm going to anyway. No details about today are spread to the public, okay? We'll get something together once we've had a chance to breathe and regroup a little."

Everyone begins shuffling away back to their groups and Sam turns back to find Steve still standing, one arm hanging uselessly by his side, and the other pulling off his helmet. “Some day, huh?”

There’s a puff of forced air that leaves Steve’s lips that Sam guesses was supposed to be a laugh. “Yeah. Some day.”

Sam turns around at the sound of approaching footsteps and finds Thor, Banner, and Barton. “Got a second, Cap?” Banner asks.

“Yeah,” he says tiredly with a nod before turning back to face Sam. He opens his mouth to say something, but Sam raises a hand to preemptively stop him.

“I’m gonna head over here and check-in with the sorcerers. Gimme a shout if you need anything.”

* * *

It isn’t until Steve waves him back over that Sam realizes he hasn’t seen Romanoff anywhere. Sure, she'd always lived up to the covert nature of her reputation, and had taken great pleasure in scaring the shit out of him over the years by seemingly appearing out of thin air, but he still would have expected to see her at some point given her undisputed leadership role beside Cap.

“Hey Cap?”

“Yeah?”

"You seen Nat?”

Steve's expression, which was already crestfallen, falls even further at the question and it hits Sam all at once why he hasn't seen her. For some reason the idea of losing Nat hadn’t even entered his mind. He’d seen her beat impossible odds time and time again. Hell, she'd rescued him and Steve from seemingly impossible situations so many times that he’d always thought her a little bit invincible.

Sam feels shock and sadness sweep through him at the thought that she's gone. Natasha Romanoff, the woman who had saved the world a few times over, who had laid bare her secrets to the world to take down Hydra, and who had given up her freedom and become a fugitive to let Steve and Barnes go, was dead. Nat was _ gone _.

He hadn't known her at all when she and Steve knocked on his door asking for a place to lay low. But then she'd casually shrugged when Steve had deferred to her for acquiring his heavily guarded wing pack, and he'd started to get a sense of who she was. He hadn't understood why she wasn't worried about the high level of security, but he trusted Captain America...and Cap seemed to trust her, so he went along with it. Sam had watched her go in and come back out with his wings in a matter of minutes, with no alarms tripped and none of the guards the wiser.

_ "You're welcome." She throws him a smirk as she drops the wing pack unceremoniously into his arms._

_ "How did you…?"_

_ "Yeah, it's better not to ask questions," Steve advises with a smile. "You won't like her answers."_

_ Sam's brow furrows into a deep frown of confusion. "No disrespect," he begins, eyes rising from his wings to her eyes, which are dancing in amusement of some kind, "but who the hell are you exactly?"_

_ "I'm the woman who just got you your wings back," she replies with another smirk._

_ "Okay, yeah, but... _ ** _who_ ** _ are you?"_

_ "I don't usually get a chance to introduce myself properly," she replies with a smile as she holds out a hand. "Natasha Romanoff, better known as the Black Widow."_

_ Sam shifts the wing pack around in his arms and manages to sneak a hand out to shake hers. " _ ** _The_ ** _ Black Widow? Wow, like-"_

_ "Steady there, Sam," Steve says, a teasing grin on his lips._

_ "Yeah, yeah. Of course," he replies with an absent nod, his mind still trying to wrap around the skillset of the woman in front of him. "Super soldier and a super secret agent…" he mumbles to himself. "How the hell do I get myself into this shit?"_

When they'd taken down Hydra together he'd only really gotten a glimpse at what she could do, but he had still been in complete awe. Then he'd joined the new Avengers team and he began to hate her a little bit because she'd seemed to enjoy his pain during her training sessions a little too much. Not to mention that she handed him his ass every damn time they sparred.

But eventually they reached a point where she was mostly satisfied with the team's techniques, fitness, and tactical awareness, and then she began to relax around them a bit. He'd found her sense of humour appropriately dark, and was not surprised to learn she had a viciously sharp wit that rivalled Stark's.

They'd grown closer over time, especially during their time in the secret Avengers. It got to the point where he considered her among his closest friends, and he was pretty sure she'd trust him with her life if push came to shove. She was fiercely loyal despite a pervasive reputation to the contrary, and he'd been a bit surprised to find that she could be incredibly kind and thoughtful.

_ "You don't have to come with us, Sam," she says as she fiddles with some of the quinjet's controls. "Clint and Scott are gonna take deals to be with their families. There's enough leverage that you could too."_

_ "And leave you alone to deal with that stubborn, self-sacrificing guy?" he replies, gesturing toward the super soldier in the back of the quinjet as he drops into the co-pilot seat beside her. "Please, Romanoff."_

_ She turns to look at him. "You've got a family, Sam."_

_ "Yeah, so do you."_

_ She shakes her head vehemently, and Sam wonders then if she really didn't think she had anyone outside the team. "I don't. Not really. It's why I can do this. But you, you have a mom and a sister, and-"_

_ "Natasha," he interrupts, holding up a hand. "I understand what you're saying. But I'm where I need to be."_

_ "Sam." Her voice is soft, and her tone sad. "There's no going back from this. Ross isn't going to let it go. You do this, there's a strong chance you don't see them again for a long time. If ever."_

_ "I'm where I need to be," he repeats, his gaze finding hers. "Where I _ ** _want_ ** _ to be."_

_ She holds his gaze for a moment before she tilts her head ever so slightly and her expression softens a touch. "You're a good man, Sam. Don't let anyone ever tell you otherwise."_

“She didn’t make it," Steve says, voice rough and broken with pain.

Sam grapples with what to say, because what _ can _ you say when you find out a close friend died while you were _ dust _. "I'm sorry," he settles on, finding Cap's gaze and shrinking under the intensity of its grief.

Steve nods sadly. "Me too."

“What happened?” he asks, because he came back to a world that had gone on without him for five years and he doesn’t know a damn thing. Did they lose her in the battle in Wakanda after he was dusted? Or at some point in those five years he had apparently missed? Or in this battle and he just hadn’t seen it?

Steve’s jaw clenches for a brief second before it relaxes and he exhales heavily. “She sacrificed herself so we could get all of you back.”

Sam blinks as he tries to process Steve’s words. Nat gave her life? Why had that been necessary? What had she had to do?

"When?" The question comes out as almost a whisper, because he can't wrap his head around the fact that Nat was _ gone _. She'd been taking down those aliens in Wakanda with Okoye like they were nothing, even though they were twice her size and God only knew how much stronger. She'd been alive, and breathing, and kicking ass. And then he'd disappeared and come back to a Wakanda that wasn't in the throes of a battle before being whisked away through a portal to New York to fight for the world. Again.

Steve swallows and Sam can see his chin tremble. "Not long before we brought you all back."

Sam breathes some shaky breaths as he mulls over Steve's answer. That meant it hadn't been that long ago...which explained why Steve looked absolutely _ wrecked. _ He hadn't just lost Tony, he'd lost Nat too. But...why did she have to sacrifice herself?

Steve sees the confusion in Sam's features and provides a bit more explanation. “We found a way to get the stones, so we could reverse what Thanos did. The stone that she and Barton were sent to get required a sacrifice to obtain it...they fought each other to be the one to do it. She won.” His voice is sad, and laced with a bitterness that tells Sam he hasn't gotten over it, and if history is any indication...he probably never will.

Sam’s throat tightens as he thinks about what she’d done for them, and what she’d given up to do it. She’d grown up in hell and had somehow come out the other side not only a good person, but a hero too. He suspected that she’d never believed it herself, but it’s what she was.

_ “You never talk about yourself, you know,” Sam says as he tips his beer bottle back and finishes off the last of it. It's been quiet for the last few days, and he's taking advantage of the downtime. They're down a member because Wanda is away visiting Vision, but Nat's set up security around their safehouse and Steve is keeping watch, so there's no reason he can't relax a bit. Hell, the casual attire she's wearing tells Sam that even Nat is unwinding a little, even if she's still working._

_ “Yes,” she answers with a half-smirk before looking back down at her tablet, making a few notes on what Sam guesses is intel on their next target. “I do know that.”_

_ He rolls his eyes. “Nat,” he admonishes. “C’mon. You know everything about me. We’ve been working together for years now and I know next to nothing about you.”_

_ "That's the status quo for spies."_

_ "You're an Avenger though," he counters._

_ "That doesn't mean espionage stopped being a part of my life. Look at where we are right now," she says with a smirk. "You think ordinary Avengers could get this nice of a safehouse?"_

_ Sam laughs at her grin. "Okay, fair point," he concedes, "but my original point stands. We're teammates, and I'd like to think we're friends too…"_

_ She looks up with a thoughtful expression. “We better have vodka," she says meaningfully, a finger pointing at him for emphasis._

_ “What?”_

_ “If we’re doing this sharing shit, we better have vodka, because there’s no way I’m doing it sober.”_

_ Sam hops up to his feet quickly. “I’m on it,” he says, heading out the door._

_ “Make sure it’s the good stuff,” she calls out. “None of that North American shit. And pay with-"_

_ "Cash," he finishes for her. "Avoid the cameras, no more conversations than necessary, and be quick but don't rush. I know, Nat."_

* * *

_He had returned twenty minutes later with 2 bottles of premium Russian vodka, and she’d laughed._

_ “So optimistic, Sam.”_

_ “You’re Russian, I don’t know how much of this stuff you need to get properly drunk.”_

_ “Who said I _ ** _get_ ** _ drunk?”_

_ He blinks. “Wait...you’re not like a super soldier like Steve are you?” He'd always assumed that she was just in peak physical condition, but with her you just never knew..._

_ She laughs again. “No, I think we both know I’m no Cap. Now grab some glasses and pour, Wilson.”_

_ “Yes, ma’am,” he says with a mock salute and does as she asked._

_ She throws back a shot and grins. “Not bad,” she acquiesces. _

_ Sam throws back his shot and immediately winces. “God, you actually like this stuff?”_

_ Her grin widens. “I grew up with it.”_

_ “It’s like water for you, isn’t it? What a stereotype you are, Romanoff,” he teases with a laugh._

_ “Ask your questions, Wilson. But remember two things. One - I reserve the right to refuse to answer. And two - you’ll never know if I’m lying.” He frowns and she laughs again. “Relax, Sam. I’m kidding about the second one. Mostly.”_

_ “I’m choosing to ignore that,” he says with a vague gesture before refilling her glass for her. He opts for another bottle of beer instead of joining her, because the vodka is burning his throat and he's never liked the stuff anyway. “Where’d you grow up?”_

_ “Russia,” she answers simply, a teasing smirk playing on her lips. “But that’s not what you meant, is it?”_

_ “I went out to get you vodka,” he reminds her. “I didn’t get you the cheap stuff either.”_

_ “True, but this isn’t the good stuff either,” she counters._

_ He groans and drops his head into his hands. “You’re killing me, Nat.”_

_ “And I’m loving every minute of it.”_

_ “You said-”_

_ “Yes, yes,” she interrupts before pausing thoughtfully. "A lot of my past was in the information dump-"_

_ "I didn't read it."_

_ "Why not?"_

_ He shrugs. "Wasn't my place to. It's your history to tell. Just because your secrets were out there didn't mean I should read 'em."_

_ "I think you're in the minority on that one."_

_ He chuckles. "Nothing new there. Always been that way."_

_ She shakes her head and laughs lightly before her expression shifts back to neutral. “I grew up in a place called the Red Room in Russia. They took me when I was very young, and I was raised along with a bunch of other girls.”_

_ Sam’s expression falls at her honest, if a bit brusque, answer. He’d heard it alluded to, and Wanda had mentioned in passing that what she had seen of it had been awful, but he didn’t know the specifics of it. “I take it that it wasn’t sunshine and rainbows?” he offers carefully, watching as she pours herself another shot and drains it in one go._

_ “No, I wouldn’t categorize any of it as sunshine and rainbows," she answers, her eyebrow arching just a touch. She pauses to pour herself another shot and drains it immediately again before continuing. "They were brutal and ruthless in their training. They did everything they could to dehumanize us so that we would fight for the cause and ask no questions."_

_ He swallows, feeling anger swell within him. He'd seen firsthand what war could do to people, and what she had endured was so much worse. How she’d survived that and still come out the other side a human being with compassion, he'd never understand. “So there’s more like you?” he asks, but regrets it immediately because he knows there's _ ** _no one_ ** _ quite like her. “Sorry, I mean-”_

_ “I know what you meant,” she interrupts before throwing back another shot as Sam wonders how many she's had. 4? 5? "There are, yes. But not as many as you might think. Very few actually graduated from the Red Room.”_

_ “If you were working for the, uh…" he trails off, not comfortable making assumptions._

_ "KGB," she supplies, pouring out some more vodka for herself and then taking a sip this time. The amount in the bottle has already dropped significantly, and he wonders if she's even feeling a buzz._

_ "If you were working for the KGB, how’d you end up working for SHIELD?_

_ A smile plays on her lips for a moment. “Barton was sent to kill me. He found me, but went against his orders and took me in instead. He somehow convinced SHIELD I would be an asset to them and wasn’t going to turn on them, and the rest is history.”_

_ Sam blinks. "Hold on. He was sent to kill you?"_

_ She nods. "Yep," she replies, popping the p for emphasis and then finishing her drink. She scrutinizes the bottle for a moment, seemingly trying to decide whether to have more before shrugging and pouring herself another glass._

_ He stares, won_ _dering how high her tolerance for alcohol is, and how she hadn't become an alcoholic with everything she lived through. _

_ "That's crazy," he says, shaking his head. "You know that right?"_

_ She shrugs. "I guess."_

_ "How many assassination attempts have you-"_

_ "Survived and then defected?" She interrupts, a wide grin on her face. "Just the one."_

_ He rolls his eyes. "It's weird that you're so casual about this."_

_ She shrugs. "It was years ago."_

_ "You say that like it was a bad hair cut."_

_ "If only," she replies dryly. "I have had a few of those over the years though. I'm not wild about this one," she says thoughtfully, fingers trailing through her short, blonde hair, "but it was necessary."_

_ "Nat." She's deflecting away from the topic, but he's certain that she knows he noticed her half-hearted attempt to change the subject._

_ "I don't know what to tell you, Sam. They aren't fond memories, so I try not to think about them if I can help it."_

_ He opens his mouth to respond, but she cuts him off and points threateningly at him. "If you spout off any bullshit about repression and that I need to deal with them properly, I'm going to smack you."_

_ He holds his hands up in surrender. "You already kick my ass when we train, I don't need you to do it when we're drinking too "_

_ "You're a wise man, Wilson," she says, holding up her glass in a toast. He clinks his bottle to her glass and they both take a drink._

_ "So Barton chose to bring you in, huh?"_

_ "Yeah "_

_ "He ever tell you why?"_

_ She smiles again fondly. "He said it was the look in my eyes. Said he saw something familiar and that someone had seen it in him once upon a time too."_

_ "He let his guard down around the most notorious and dangerous Russian assassin-" he abruptly stops, a thought occurring to him. "What was your body count anyway?"_

_ Her eyebrow arches. "You really wanna know the answer to that?"_

_ He shakes his head immediately, because no, no he _ ** _really_ ** _ doesn't need to know that. "No, I guess I don't. So Barton let his guard down around a master assassin because he thought he saw something familiar in your eyes?"_

_ She grins widely. "I never said he was a smart man."_

_ "I'm gonna tell him you said that."_

_ "He knows," she says, waving off his threat. "I call him an idiot to his face all the time."_

_ Sam chuckles lightly before a short silence envelops them._

_ "You miss him?" he asks._

_ She nods after a moment of silence. "We've spent time apart before...we used to run solo missions for months at a time, and Fury was frustratingly fond of sending me on back-to-backs. But this time is...different."_

_ "I'm sorry."_

_ She shrugs again. "It's not your fault. It's the life we signed up for."_

_ "Doesn't sound like you signed up for it at all," he counters. "Not when you grow up in a place like that."_

_ She shrugs. "It's in the past. I did my time with SHIELD. I could have gone off grid and disappeared, but I chose to stay."_

_ "Why?"_

_ She smiles. "Same as you. Same as Steve, and Wanda too. I want to try and do some good."_

_ "I think you covered that when you fought aliens in New York, and then robots in Sokovia, and Hydra goons basically everywhere else," he remarks dryly. But he watches her carefully, because he suspects it's a bit of a sore spot for her. _

_ She shrugs again as she takes a sip from her glass. "My life before SHIELD is not easily wiped away."_

_ "At what point is it enough though? At some point you have to define it or accept that it's never gonna be an equation that balances."_

_ "Thought I told you to drop that counsellor shit," she replies, pointing a finger at him in a half-hearted threat._

_ "I'm just saying," he says, holding up his hands in innocence, "you've saved the world a few times over, helped take down a dangerous organization, and were a badass SHIELD agent for years before all of that."_

_ She chuckles before taking a prolonged drink from her glass, finishing the liquid. "I will happily take the title of badass SHIELD agent."_

_ He doesn't miss the sidestep, but lets it go. She was certainly not the type to be bullied or pushed into things. "You think they'll ever forgive us and let us come home?"_

_ Her expression is thoughtful. "I got my freedom back once, I can do it again."_

_ Sam smiles, even if the thought is a bit somber. "I have no doubt," he says, holding up his bottle in another toast._

* * *

"She was a good friend," Sam says with a nod. It's the truth, and they both know it implicitly, but it felt like it should be said anyway. The world had these preconceived notions about her, and saying it out loud, even if just to Steve, emphasizes in Sam's mind what she was.

Steve nods again and reaches his good arm up to wipe away some tears. If they're from losing Tony or losing Nat, Sam doesn't know. _ Probably both _ he thinks.

"She died saving her family."

Sam considers his words. She'd saved Clint, apparently, and while he doesn't have all the information, it sort of seems like without her sacrifice they wouldn't have been able to bring everyone back...so yeah, she'd saved her family.

"She was a hero."

"_Is _ a hero," Steve corrects, his voice firm and leaving no room for doubt. It's the first glimpse of the typical Captain America strength he's seen since the end of the battle.

Sam nods in understanding and agreement. "We'll make sure people know what she did. We'll make sure they know the Black Widow, who they all loved to hate, is the one who saved them all. We'll make sure they appreciate and recognize what she did," he promises. "We'll make sure they know Natasha Romanoff was a good person, and a goddamned hero."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's been sitting in my drafts folder for weeks, and every time I went back to read it over and edit it, it grew a little. I finally decided to stop that pattern and post it.
> 
> Thoughts? Comments? Ideas for other characters?


	15. Missed Our Window, Huh?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce has a post-snap experience, and eventually makes his way to the afterlife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because it's a reunion that was way overdue.
> 
> enjoy.

Bruce's eyes close and his face contorts into a grimace as the energy from the gauntlet surges through him. The pain is excruciating, but isn’t limited to one kind of sensation. It's an explosion of sharp and ragged jabs to his every nerve ending, and then a strange kind of numbness settling into his arm. It's a raging fire rushing through his body, followed by a tsunami of water drowning him. It's lightning crackling through his veins and then thunder roaring in his ears.

He can feel the stones forcing their power onto him even as they steal away his own energy, but he fights against it, holding up his right arm with his left, and concentrating on bringing everybody back. _ Everybody. _ His expression tightens even further and he can't help the roar of pain he lets out as he brings his fingers together and snaps. His eyes open long enough to be blinded by a brilliant flash of white and then they fall closed as he passes out.

* * *

Hulk wakes to a sky of orange, with no memory of transforming from Banner and no feeling of the scientist in his mind. It’s a new sensation, because in the past he’s always been at the very least _ aware _of Banner in his mind, even if he doesn’t let him have any control. He sits up and scans his surroundings, frowning as he finds nothing. No buildings, no people, no roads, no ground...just...orange for as far as he can see.

He lets out a deafening roar of frustration as he spins around again and again, looking for something..._ anything _. On his fifth turn, he spots something in the distance. He's puzzled by its sudden appearance, but begins moving toward it quickly anyway. A familiar energy begins to surge through him as the potential of a fight swells, but when he gets close enough he stops to look at the unknown object and only finds more confusion spreading in him.

"Hey, Big Guy."

Hulk whips around at the unexpected voice with a wave of rage simmering just under the surface, ready for a fight. But vague familiarity tugs at him as he watches the familiar figure walk past him, never dropping eye contact as she moves to stand in front of the unknown object he'd been walking toward. She’s completely unafraid of him - something he’s not used to.

"I've missed you," she says, a little grin tugging at her lips.

The sheer familiarity of her washes over him as he grits his teeth and growls while trying to wrestle with his temper.

"Sun's gettin' real low."

He lets out a loud huff of frustration because he knows this routine and knows it means giving up control to Banner. Even still, his hand rises to match hers because he craves the familiarity and understanding in her actions. His eyes watch her face carefully as she smiles at him, and his harsh features soften at the calmness in her gaze. He mirrors her movements and then shivers at the touch of her hand to his forearm. He feels his control wane as her fingers trail down to his wrist and then to his palm, the familiarity of her touch and gaze allowing him to relax.

Hulk stumbles away a few steps and falls to his knees as Banner begins to take more control and his body shrinks down.

Bruce's eyes open and he finds himself in a world with no edges, and no real visible delineation between ground and sky. Just swirls of varying hues of orange and a ground that appears to be holding him up but he wouldn't quite call solid.

He blinks in shock when he glances down at his body and realizes he's human again, and then frowns when he doesn’t feel any trace of Hulk lurking in the back of his mind like he used to when he’d transform back and forth.

_ Am I…did I die? _ he wonders as he turns his hands over a few times, examining the human form he hasn't seen for years. Not since he’d gone into the lab the final time before completing the process to merge he and Hulk together.

"Hi Bruce."

His head whips around at the sound of a voice that's so painfully familiar and his jaw drops open in shock. "Nat?"

She smiles then, one of those enigmatic ones that he'd always loved. She's wearing a familiar black and white dress, and her hair is shorter and redder than when he'd last seen her. She's leaning on the other side of a bar that's inexplicably with them in the middle of all the orange nothingness, complete with liquor bottles and glasses lining the open-backed shelves.

_ “How'd a nice girl like you wind up working in a dump like this?” _

_ “Fella done me wrong.” _

_ “You got lousy taste in men, kid.” _

_ “He’s not so bad…” _

He blinks rapidly, because he can't believe what he's seeing. "It's- Is it-?" he swallows as he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment and then forces them open quickly. "Is it really you?"

She smiles again as she tilts her head. "Well, last time I checked, there weren't too many other people who could be me," she answers with an oh-so-familiar arch of her eyebrow. "Or so I've been told anyway."

"Was I the Hulk again?" he asks, unable to explain the revert back to how things were before eighteen months of scientific process in the lab to meld the two of them together. Another glance down confuses him even further when he notices he’s fully clothed. That _ never _ happened after a transformation. ** _Ever_ ** _ . _

She nods. "It was nice to see him again." His brow furrows at her answer and she shrugs. "It's been awhile."

"I… I don't understand,” he says slowly as he looks around. “What is this place?"

She shrugs. "Does it matter?"

Bruce stares as he lets her question linger, and realizes that maybe it doesn't. He'd thought he'd never see her again…and yet here she was in front of him looking every bit the enigmatic, unique, and amazing woman he remembered.

"Nat," he says with an exhale that's got grief and longing rolled into it, mixed in with some exasperation because he can't understand how she's apparently okay with everything that's happened and their presence in an orange world of nothingness.

"What?" she says with a light laugh. The laugh sounds almost carefree, but he isn’t naive enough to believe she hadn’t sussed out every inch of emotion in his tone - no, he knows she’s teasing him. _ She’d always known what buttons to push _.

He stares at her, drinking in every detail he can. Her eyes are lighter, like they haven't lived years filled with the weight of a failure to save the world...like they haven’t lived years with the aching loss of friends and family. In fact, they're almost alight with mischief like they used to be when she'd flirt with him, or when she'd tease Steve, or bait Tony into a rant of some kind.

But Bruce sobers instantly when he remembers Clint falling to his knees on the platform and being unable to answer when they'd asked where Nat was. They had all understood it was possible to lose someone -it came with the territory of being a hero after all- but it had still been an unexpected punch to the gut when she hadn't reappeared with the rest of them.

"I'm sorry," he says, his head shaking gently as he frowns and tries to rein in his emotions, lest they overwhelm him. “Nat...I’m so sorry.”

Her grin disappears and a frown creases her brow. "Why?"

"The stone… You-"

"Did what had to be done," she finishes for him.

"Yeah, but-"

"But nothing," she interrupts firmly. "We needed the stone, and it required a sacrifice. Did you really think I was going to let Clint do it?"

Bruce looks at her sadly. "I thought we could bring you back. That's why I'm here, isn't it? I was trying to bring you back along with everyone else."

She smiles, but this time he can see that it's tinged with sadness. "It doesn't work like that,” she replies softly.

"But we have the stones,” he replies stubbornly. “We have the stones and we can-"

A single, slow shake of her head. "It doesn't work like that," she repeats, and it's then that he sees the tears in her eyes. "You have to go back, Bruce."

He shakes his head immediately, because he's not ready to leave her.

"Job's not finished," she says with a smile that flickers onto her face only briefly as she tips her chin to him to emphasize her words. "World still needs you to be a hero."

"Not without you," he says as his jaw clenches with the effort of holding off his grief, but he feels tears pool in his eyes despite the effort. He doesn't know where they are, or even why he's seeing her, but he's not ready to leave her. "Come back with me, Nat," he begs. “Please.”

Her chin trembles for just a moment and he sees a tear slip down her cheek before her telltale strength settles back in. "I can't," she whispers, her voice husky with emotion that she’s trying to hold in. "Believe me, I wish more than anything that I could, but I can't."

He reaches a hand up to wipe away the tear and is surprised when her skin is warm and soft to the touch. He slides his hand to cup her cheek and she leans into the contact as she closes her eyes, letting a soft sigh slip from her lips. He drops his hand from her face to wrap his arms around her tightly, and he feels her reciprocate immediately. His eyes close and he breathes in the familiar scent as he holds her tightly.

"Nat..." he whispers before the words he desperately wants to say get stuck in his throat. The same words neither of them had dared to think about when they were dancing around what they might’ve had the chance to explore.

"I know, Bruce," she murmurs, hugging him a bit tighter. "Me too."

They stay like that, just holding onto each other for a long time -_ not long enough _\- before she slips out of his grasp. "Time to go, Bruce."

He's shaking his head again instantly. "It's not fair," he whispers.

She regards him for a moment with eyes that are still watery, but her gaze is filled with a strength that he can't understand. _ How can she possibly be so strong in the face of these circumstances? _ "Life never is," she replies, reaching a hand up to cup his cheek tenderly. It’s his turn to lean into the contact, eyes slipping shut for just a moment as he commits the feel of it to memory.

"We never got to see..."

She smiles sadly again. "We missed our window, huh?" He doesn't reply and just stares at her, the lost and unexplored time between them feeling like a dead weight pulling him down. "Thank you," she whispers suddenly, as though desperate to let him know.

His brow furrows. "For what?"

She just smiles enigmatically and leans forward to kiss him. Then there's a blinding flash and suddenly he's looking up at the concerned faces of Tony, Cap, Clint, and Thor. Natasha is nowhere to be seen, and reality crashes down on him just before a storm of missiles do.

* * *

His eyes flutter open to find Tony in front of him leaning back in a chair, feet propped up on a desk as his hands fiddle with some mechanical object. "Tony?" he says, voice rough and feeling like he hasn’t used it in days.

Tony's feet swing off the desk and he turns around to face Bruce. "What's up, Doc? How ya feeling?"

Bruce frowns as he sits up, looks around, and immediately recognizes the old Avengers tower. "Why are we at the Tower?" He pauses as he remembers Tony had told him he’d sold it years before when they fully moved operations to the Compound. "And also how?"

Tony flashes a trademark grin. "Well, let me just start by saying that I'm touched you picked the Tower. Really, brings a tear to my eye."

"Tony," he warns out of habit, all too easily recognizing when Tony is enjoying himself a bit too much.

Tony sighs dramatically before leaning forward in his chair. “Not really any easy way for me to say this, so I’m just gonna rip off the bandaid, yeah?” Bruce opens his mouth to respond, but Tony doesn’t stop to let him, instead continuing on. “You’re dead.”

Bruce blinks as he processes the blunt words. Faint memories of drifting away begin to flutter into his mind. He had theorized that the amalgamation between he and Hulk would extend his lifespan, but the damage from the stones had evidently impacted things more than he’d thought. He'd lived another few decades after the time heist and battle, but eventually began to wither long before he'd guessed he would.

"And this is like, the in-between place. You're dead, no going back from that, but you’re not in the afterlife yet either," he explains, hands gesturing almost wildly. "Your soul's gotta heal first. Why, exactly, I don't know, but those are the rules. Non-negotiable, or so I’ve gathered."

Bruce has so many questions, but for some reason he comes back to "So why the Tower?"

Tony grins again. "Everyone conjures up a place that's comforting to them so their soul can heal. Me? I woke up on the beach by the lake where Pep and I built our house. Capsicle on the other hand, he woke up in his childhood bedroom with his mom."

"So I picked the Tower?"

"Apparently. Like I said, I'm touched," he says, pressing a hand to his heart and bowing his head slightly. “Means the world to me, my favourite science bro.”

"If this is the transitional place...what are you doing here?"

"Well thanks so much for that warm welcome," he replies dryly as he leans back in his chair and begins fiddling with the object in his hands again.

"Tony," Bruce warns again as he shakes his head.

Tony’s gaze slides back to Bruce as he grins widely and spreads his arms out as though presenting himself proudly. "I'm your guide."

"Guide?"

Tony puts down the object he'd been fiddling with onto the desk and stands up before offering a hand to help Bruce to his feet. "Someone's gotta explain this place to the newbies."

"And they voted you in for that?" Bruce replies, doubting that Tony, as big-hearted as he is, could be a wise choice for people to get their guidance from.

Tony chuckles. "Again, thanks for that vote of confidence, Bruce. But no, I'm _ your _ guide, not everyone's. Every soul picks a person who's already, uh, _ transitioned _to be their guide."

_ Tony? _ Bruce thinks, _ My soul picked Tony? _

"I know what you're thinking," Tony offers. "I was kinda surprised to get this gig. There's a certain red-head I thought you might've gone for considering your…" he pauses and looks thoughtful for a moment, "well I don't know that I can quite call it a romance, but _ whatever _it was."

Bruce's eyes widen. "Nat's here?"

"Well, yeah…” Tony frowns in confusion. “She beat both of us here."

Bruce's mind flashes back to the orange nothingness where he'd held her before she told him he had to go back and be a hero. He'd never told anyone about it, not even Clint. He'd held it closely to his chest, treasuring that final moment he'd been granted with her, but he'd thought about it a lot. He still couldn't explain it, at least…not fully, but the closest he'd come to a theory had been that they were in some sort of place governed by the soul stone because she'd sacrificed herself for it. Anxiety had gripped him at the thought of Nat being all alone there, and he'd prayed with every fibre of his being that he was wrong. She deserved so much more than that.

"Right," he mumbles. "Of course."

He can feel the heat of Tony's gaze but doesn't meet it and instead looks at the floor.

"So, you ready for the grand tour?" Tony says finally, breaking their mini stalemate.

"You tell me, you're my guide."

"How do you feel?"

"How am I supposed to feel?"

"Healed."

"Well, I suppose I feel alright…"

"Then let's get a move on, Jolly Green Giant. There’s this great little American diner and they have the best cheeseburgers you’ll ever have…”

* * *

Tony had shown him around a bit, and then kindly offered to let him stay with him as he acclimated to his new surroundings. Bruce had declined politely, and so instead he’d led him to the house that was apparently his.

“Right, this is your stop. Think you’ve got enough of the lay of the land?”

Bruce blew out a breath. “I think so.”

Tony eyes him critically for a moment. “You sure?” Bruce nods. “Well if you need anything, hit me up.”

“Actually,” he calls out just as Tony was opening the front door to leave. “Do you know where Nat is?”

“I’m impressed, Bruce. I had money on you asking much earlier on.”

Bruce rolls his eyes. _ Some things never change. _

“Head over to the Compound, you’ll find her there.”

“The Compound?” he repeats. “Avengers Compound?” The _ Avengers Compound is here? _

“Yeah,” Tony nods. “Head down toward the lake...well, the _ other _ lake that is. Not mine.”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks, Tony.”

He waves him off. “Give Red a kiss for me.” Bruce’s eyebrow arches at the suggestion. “Hey, don’t give me that look. Me and Nat are basically besties now, what with being the co-saviours of the universe and all.”

Bruce shakes his head. _ Yeah, some things _ ** _never_ ** _ change. _

He takes a few minutes to explore his house before giving up and deciding to head over to the Compound to find her. Time had done a lot to ease some of the pain of losing her but he’d never quite come to terms with the loss, so he’s eager to find her. He has no illusions about whether what they might’ve had once upon a time was still on the table. He knows that chance evaporated the moment Hulk had left her behind and disappeared into space. But losing her so suddenly had left him without closure of any kind...

It takes him only a few minutes to walk over to the Compound, and his breath catches at the sight of her silhouette on the dock. The faint red, gold, and orange hues that are peeking out over the horizon remind him vividly of the orange nothingness that he'd been in with her, and his heart swells with relief that she isn't stuck alone somewhere. But even as relief washes over him, his brow creases with a gentle frown when he begins to wonder how long she’s been here since she did _ technically _ die in the past...

He's so caught up with his thoughts that he stumbles when his foot catches on a root, and the sound causes her to turn around. Her expression brightens as she sees him and she immediately gets up and makes her way over to him quickly.

"Hi," she says softly, a warm smile curling on her lips as she wraps her arms around him.

"Nat," is all he can manage before the words get caught in a lump in his throat along with the emotions of seeing her again. He is _ painfully _aware of how many years it’s been, and yet in many ways it feels like just yesterday he’d last seen her.

His arms wrap around her tentatively because he’s having a hard time reconciling that she’s actually _ here _ with him. She relaxes into his hold in a way he’s never seen before, and he wonders how much different this Nat here in front of him is from the one that had grinned at them all on the platform and teased ‘See you in a minute.’

They hold each other for a long time, and for Bruce it's utter relief and happiness that he has her with him again. Once upon a time they had both wanted to explore something more with each other, but it had never been the right time. Somewhere along the way they had accepted that their brief flickering of the start of _ something _ had been more than either of them ever expected to get. Instead they’d shared a friendship and an understanding of each other on a level deeper than most, even if they didn’t talk as much as they probably should have in the latter years.

"I've missed you," she says softly as they break the embrace.

"Would you believe me if I said I've missed you more?"

"No," she says, another smile curling on her lips. He grins back at her and her smile widens. "Let's sit," she suggests, nodding behind her. "I want to watch the sun come up."

He nods in agreement and allows her to lead them over to the dock where she'd been sitting before. "It's beautiful," he says, eyeing the warm hues that are painting across the sky and expanding slowly. She doesn't say anything for a few seconds, but then she reaches over and gives his hand a squeeze. He squeezes back and then tugs gently to get her to look at him. "I really missed you, Nat. Losing you…it was hell."

"I heard you had a disagreement with a bench," she teases gently, a little smile tugging at her lips.

He barks out a laugh at her dry delivery. "To be fair, my disagreement was not actually with the bench. It just bore the brunt of my emotions."

"The poor bench,” she says with a shake of her head and a breathy chuckle.

"It was among its people," he offers with a lopsided grin. "I tossed it into the forest."

She snorts and then laughs heartily. "Well, if it was among friends…"

Their laughter dies down and they fall quiet as their gazes drift back to the spreading shades of red, gold, and orange. Bruce's thoughts turn once again to their shared moment after he snapped his fingers and he can’t help but tell her how glad he is to have her with him. "I'm really glad you're here," he says, giving her hand another squeeze.

Her brow creases with a gentle frown as she turns to look at him. "Did you not expect me to be?" she asks, and then her expression falls.

His heart squeezes in his chest as he realizes what she'd inferred from his words. He shakes his head quickly. "No, that's not- That's not what I meant, Nat. You're worthy of peace and rest and being here in heaven or the afterlife, or wherever this is," he explains, the words tumbling out of his mouth as quickly as he can manage. "I just mean, after the last time we saw each other, I sorta thought you'd be stuck there."

Her frown deepens. "Stuck where?"

"The orange..." he trails off, searching for an appropriate descriptor, "...nothingness."

Nat is quiet for a moment before she answers slowly. "I don't know what you're talking about, Bruce. After I-” she stops abruptly, as though trying to choose her words. “After I died, I just woke up in that transitional place. There was no orange nothingness…"

He blinks and it comes to him all at once. _ Of course _ . _ It was a hallucination...or maybe a vision from the Reality stone? _

"Bruce…" she prompts.

He sighs lightly and tips his gaze to meet hers. "When I had the gauntlet and we were trying to bring back everyone...I tried to bring you back too. I passed out after I snapped my fingers, and woke up in this…"

"Orange nothingness," she supplies.

“Yeah,” he nods as he gathers his thoughts. “But you were there and had done the lullaby, because I had apparently been the Hulk again. We talked and I asked you to come back with me, but you said you couldn't. I begged you, but you said it didn't work that way and that I had to go back and be a hero for the world again." He pauses for a moment, but she doesn't say anything and so he continues. "I woke up shortly after, staring up at the concerned faces of Cap, Tony, Clint, and Thor, but you were obviously nowhere to be found."

"A soul for a soul," she murmurs. He frowns because Clint had never offered details and he’d never asked. "That was the deal to get the stone. One of us had to lose that which we love. An everlasting exchange."

He sighs heavily. "I really thought I could bring you back with the stones. I tried...I really did." He feels her squeeze his hand. "I thought about it a lot after the battle, and I wondered if the orange nothingness was something governed by the soul stone. I guess it was just a dream or a hallucination or maybe something from the reality stone, but I thought maybe…"

Her head tilts slightly. "You thought maybe…"

He exhales. "I thought that maybe because you had sacrificed yourself for the stone that you were stuck there forever."

She blinks as she processes his words. "I'm glad I'm not," she begins slowly, her words and tone carefully neutral, "but if it had been necessary-"

"No," he interrupts, "don't even say it. You didn't deserve that."

"Maybe not, but if it had been necessary, I would have done it."

He stares at her, finding an all too familiar strength in her gaze. She had always been willing to do the things other people ran away from. "I know," he says sadly. "But I'm glad you didn't have to. I wish you hadn't been forced to-"

"Bruce," she murmurs, "I did what I did to save my family." He opens his mouth to reply but she presses on. "And I'd do it again if I had to. But what's done is done. It was a long time ago, and we're here now."

She turns to look out over the lake again, and they fall into a comfortable silence as the sun creeps up over the horizon, flooding the world with light and warmth.

“Where was your transitional place?” he asks gently, curiosity building in him. Her life had been filled with so much pain and tragedy…

She smiles. “Here.”

“The Compound?” he clarifies.

“Just up there,” she explains with a nod and gesturing to a patch of soft grass about a dozen yards away.

“Why here?”

“I think it was the first place I really felt I had a place of my own.”

He nods in understanding. She had _ thrived _ as an Avenger. Despite the circumstances, watching her step up to lead what was left of them in the aftermath of the Snap had been amazing.

“When we first moved into the facility I used to watch the sunsets and sunrises here. They were...calming.”

There’s the faintest pang of regret in his heart because he knows that was a time when she was hurting because he and Hulk had left so abruptly. “Nice spot,” he agrees.

“People used to join me sometimes. Wanda would come and watch the sunset while we worked on her meditation. Steve was the only one ever up early enough to join me for the sunrises, and he always brought me a thermos of coffee along with a blanket. Sam would come and watch the sunset sometimes, and he’d bring alcohol,” she finishes with a grin that makes Bruce laughs.

“Tony ever join you?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “Nah, he was already retired by that point. Actually,” she pauses thoughtfully, “I think it was ‘active duty non-combatant’ he went with.”

“He definitely would have brought some good alcohol if he had.”

Nat chuckles. “I bet he would have. Probably would’ve had some fancy chairs installed too. You know how he likes to put his mark on things.”

Bruce laughs. “Speaking of. Think you could show me around the place? Tony gave me a quick tour that mostly revolved around cheeseburgers and his place, but I'm thinking there's a bit more to it than that."

She grins widely and laughs. "Yeah, I can do that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so...thoughts? comments? love to hear what you think.  
been avoiding Bruce for awhile because his character was intimidating to me, but couldn't put it off any longer.
> 
> also - thoughts on other characters to explore?


	16. Someone's Gotta Watch Your Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhodey returns from a trip and finds Nat working through some stuff in a not so healthy fashion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because I remembered there was a deleted scene in AoU where Rhodey tells Nat to watch her six, and then he repeats that in Endgame.
> 
> and because I remembered they'd known each other a long time by the time Endgame rolled around...

“Welcome back, Colonel Rhodes.”

“Afternoon, Friday,” Rhodey says as he heads toward the kitchen, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder and briefcase in his hand.

“I trust your trip was successful?”

“As successful as anything can be these days,” he answers truthfully. Thanos’ actions had thrown multiple wrenches into the already fragile web of relationships between countries. Losing half of the world's living things had left things in a state of chaos that they were still trying to balance out. It had been years now, and yes some progress had been made, but everyone was still trying to grapple with how to handle things.

Tony had stepped back, citing the lost fight and the fact that there was nothing they could do to fix it. He'd survived the battle against Thanos and then being stranded in space, and told them he was taking his second chance with Pepper with both hands. Nobody held it against him.

But that left a sizable hole to fill on the team in terms of who dealt with the government officials and overall politics. At first he, Nat, and Steve had shared most of it. But slowly that burden came to rest mostly on his own shoulders as Steve slowly stepped back to split his time between the Compound and his support group in the city, and Nat focused on handling team operations and the initiative for the orphaned kids. Of course it helped helped that the government officials who were left tended to trust him, a military man, over two former fugitives...one of whom was also a former Russian spy.

"Anyone around today?" he asks.

"Ms. Romanoff is in the dance studio." _ Right, dumb question. Nat's _ ** _always_ ** _ here. _"Do you need me to-"

“No,” he replies quickly. “It’s not urgent. I’ll catch her later. Thanks though.”

"Any analyses to be done?" Friday asks, well used to the routines he followed when he returned from long stretches of meetings.

"Some," he answers as he puts down his briefcase, drops his keys onto the coffee table, and lets the bag slide off his shoulder to the ground, "but nothing that can't wait until tomorrow. Right now I just want to watch some football, drink some beer, and not move for a couple hours."

"Any preferences?" Friday asks. The league had long since folded, but Friday had a library of games to pull from, most of which he hadn't actually seen. It doesn't beat watching live football, but these days people took what they could get.

"Surprise me," he says as he heads into the kitchen to grab a beer and some snacks. The sounds of commentary and a boisterous crowd fill the room almost immediately and he blows out a breath of relief. _ Damn, it's good to be home._

* * *

A couple hours later the game is wrapping up and Rhodey stands up to stretch his legs, which have gotten a bit stiff and sore from being seated for too long.

"Colonel Rhodes?" Friday's voice fills the room unexpectedly.

"Yeah?"

There's a slight pause before Friday answers and suddenly Rhodey's a bit worried. _ Maybe something happened with Tony?_

"Ms. Romanoff is still in the studio…"

He frowns. "Okay…"

"And has been for some time now."

He glances at his watch and finds it's been a couple hours since he got back. He's not worried yet since it wasn't unusual for her workouts to last a few hours, depending on her exercise of choice. Unless... "How long has she been there?"

"5 hours, 23 minutes."

"What's she doing in there?"

"Dancing."

Rhodey blows out a breath. Nat's workouts had always put everyone but Cap's to shame. He vividly remembered being impressed and a bit terrified after seeing her do a _ real _ workout for the first time. He'd mentally upped his reps immediately. But since Thanos...her workouts were more intense and more frequent. He supposed it was a way for her to gain back some control, and maybe to be ready if her constant searches and extensive research ever came back with a tangible lead on how to bring everybody back.

"Has she been dancing the whole time?"

"Yes."

"For five and a half hours?" he clarifies, not quite believing it. Even for Nat that was a bit much.

"Yes. I believe it may be prudent to check on her."

"Shit," he mutters before blowing out a heavy exhale. "I'll check on her. Thanks, Friday."

"Thank you, Colonel."

With Tony gone and Steve no longer desiring to fill the team leader role, Nat had stepped up to cobble together and lead what was left of the team. And she'd done well at it all, even in the face of everything they'd gone through and were up against. But the strain of not finding any answers to the hard questions she kept asking herself had been wearing on her. Apparently more than he'd thought. He thinks back to his last call with Nat and remembers how he'd noticed that she had looked just a bit more worn out than usual.

He makes his way out of the kitchen and over to the training area where the studio is. It hadn't really been used much that he knew of, but then again he hadn't really known Nat danced either, so…

He hears the music before he reaches the studio, and it tugs at his mind as being familiar, but he can't place it. It's loud though, and he supposes it's to drown anything and everything else out. He gets it - it's not that strange for him to crank his music when he's lifting weights.

"Time check, Friday."

"5 hours and 28 minutes."

He sighs as he pushes open the door. It didn't take a shrink to figure out that she was probably punishing herself. There'd been a lot of that going around after Wakanda, and Nat's particular brand of guilt had apparently stuck around more stubbornly than most.

He's impressed that after nearly five and a half hours she's still going. He's never seen her dance before, but he's seen a couple ballet performances and it's clear to him that her pirouettes, leaps, and movements are not those of a novice. Suddenly her unrivalled flexibility, agility, and strength as a fighter make perfect sense to him. There'd always been a sort of grace to the way Nat moved from one enemy to the next, and clearly it stemmed from her dancing background. He can see the sweat dripping off her, and he's pretty sure she's bled through her pointe shoes, but it's the expression on her face that worries him. It flashes between anguish and a sort of blank neutral that's actually arguably worse than the pain in her eyes.

"Friday, cut the music," Rhodey says as he leans against the door frame. The very fact that she hadn't noticed he'd been watching was concerning in and of itself considering her generally paranoid nature.

The music stops abruptly and she finishes a spin before turning around to face him. She's breathing heavily but not out of control, and he didn't doubt for a second that she probably could have kept going for another five and a half hours if she had to.

"You always interrupt people's workouts?" she snaps.

"Only when Friday gets concerned," he retorts easily. Years of being on the receiving end of Tony's snarky comments had rendered him nearly immune to that particular brand of verbal barbs.

Nat glares at a camera in the corner. "Snitch," she mutters under her breath.

"Don't take it out on Friday," he chastises. "You wanna tell me what all of this," he gestures to her and the room vaguely, "is about?"

"I'm working out," she answers, tone all business. "I thought that was pretty clear."

"To be the lead in the next production of the Nutcracker?"

"Rhodes," she warns._ Rhodes, huh? Someone's cranky… _"I'm just getting a workout in. Dance happens to be a pretty common way for-"

"Yeah, last I checked a five and a half hour ballet routine isn't in your or _ anyone's _ regular workouts." She glares at him, but he presses on, this time a little more gently. "You've bled through your shoes, Nat," he says softly.

She glances down and for an instant he sees her expression falter before her mask snaps back into place. "Not the first time," she murmurs.

"Won't be the last?" he guesses, and she glares at him again. "C'mon, Nat. I'll cook you dinner."

"Rhodey," she tries, tone soft and a contrast to her previous snarkiness. _ Oh, so we're back to Rhodey now? _ "I'm fine."

But he's undaunted. "Keep saying that. Maybe it'll mean something one of these days."

Her expression hardens once more, and he can see the mask snap into place.

"Go ahead and glare at me. I handled Tony Stark for years. And that was _ before _ he had his 'I'm going to save the world and be a better person' epiphany. This?" he waves his hand at her vaguely again. "This is nothing."

She seems to consider his words for a moment before turning abruptly and walking over to the bench where her gym bag is. Rhodey eyes her carefully as she begins to unwrap and remove her shoes. Nat is one of the most capable and even-keeled people he's ever known, but this behaviour...this definitely falls into the 'not okay' category.

His eyes drop to her bruised and bleeding toes and he frowns. "You gonna take care of those feet, or do I have to use up some of my blackmail material?"

She glances up and holds his gaze. He finds her eyes steely, but with a familiar glimmer of mischief somewhere in them. "_ As if _ you have anything," she drawls as she looks back down to her feet to appraise them, wiggling her toes and wincing slightly.

"You want to test that, Romanoff?" It's a bit of a teasing jab because he's hoping to loosen the mother of all knots that's apparently taken up residence somewhere deep inside her.

She glances up again and eyes him for a moment before she laughs and her posture relaxes a bit. "You haven't got shit," she accuses knowingly, arching an eyebrow that punctuates her certainty in her read of him.

"Guilty as charged," he shrugs with a little grin. He'd gotten what he wanted - a little bit of the Nat he knows back. "But seriously, take care of those feet. I'm not dealing with having to take you to medical. You're worse than Tony with doctors."

She chuckles again as she gets up and walks over to him, towel around her neck and gym bag slung over her shoulder. She's hiding it, but he can see she's stepping gingerly and there's the slightest limp in her gait. "You know there's a reason you've never beaten me at poker, Rhodes."

"Yeah, yeah, rub it in. Contrary to what you're implying, I _ do _have a poker face. You're just freakishly good at reading people," he retorts as they begin walking out of the studio together. "But I wasn't ever in it to win."

"No?"

"No," he shakes his head, "I just liked to watch Tony's slow but steady downward spiral as you beat him every single hand, even when he was certain he had you."

"It _ was _ fun to watch his desperation grow…" she says as another chuckle slips out. "You mentioned dinner?"

"Preferences?"

She thinks for a moment. "Chili?"

_ She always did have a soft spot for my chili… _he thinks.

"If we have what we need…" he trails off and looks toward the camera in the corner of the room.

"All ingredients in stock," Friday confirms.

"Then chili it is."

Nat smiles, but he can't help but notice it doesn't reach her eyes. Then again, none of them have really had much to be happy about over the past few years… Morgan's birth had buoyed their spirits for awhile, but life outside that bubble had gone on being as bleak as it was before.

"Go shower and take care of those feet. Then get your ass in the kitchen because I'm not making it alone."

"Yes sir," she replies with a little smirk and a half-hearted mock salute.

He can't help but roll his eyes, but at least she's out of her head.

* * *

With the chili now simmering on the stove and at least an hour out from being ready to eat, he'd grabbed himself another beer and a bag of chips to munch on, and then tossed Nat a sports drink and a protein bar because he was pretty sure she hadn't eaten anything yet that day.

She rolls her eyes. "Thanks, Mom."

"You're welcome," he answers, not rising to the bait.

They both sit down in the common area adjacent to the kitchen, him on the couch and her across from him on a chair. He's relieved to see her sipping the drink and eating the bar, and decides that she's back to being herself enough for him to broach the topic he needs to discuss with her.

"I'm gonna ask you something, Nat, and because we've known each other a long time and gone through a lot of shit together, I want you to do me the courtesy of not giving me a bullshit answer."

She stays quiet and nods to prompt him to continue.

"What was the extended and excessive dancing about?"

"You're really not going to let that go, are you?" 

Rhodey just stares back at her, making his answer very clear silently. She finishes off the protein bar and takes another sip of her drink before she begins to explain.

"Dancing was a big part of my training growing up. It was useful for developing strength, flexibility, endurance, focus, and obedience."

_ Obedience?_

"We'd dance for hours sometimes, just so they could find the ones that weren't worth their time or effort. Weed out the weak ones."

_ Oh._

"If it was a part of…" he trails off, unsure of the exact descriptor he's looking for to properly encapsulate the horrors she'd survived. "All _ that _. Why do it now?"

"Because I love it," she answers simply.

Rhodey finds himself a bit confused. An upbringing like hers meant that they'd used ballet in the worst way possible…and yet she loves it? "Even though it was a part of your training?"

"I've always loved it. I used it as an escape when I was in the Red Room. When I was dancing it was just me and the music because everything else - the pain, the anger, the horrors - they faded away. Even when they kept us dancing for hours on end, I relished that time. And I decided after I joined SHIELD that it wasn't going to be something else that they got to take away from me."

_ Ah. Now we're getting somewhere. _ "So you dance because you love it?" 

She offers a weak smile. "I used to. Now I dance to get out of my head. Sometimes it helps to fall back into those routines and just...exist without having to think."

_ To escape _, he concludes. "Why'd you need to get out of your head?"

She sighs. "Friday, can you bring up the Ronin file?"

_ Ronin?_

"Of course, Ms. Romanoff."

She enlarges it, picks out a couple screens and then flicks them over to him. His eyes scan the text that describes a string of murders in the midwest, and then another on the west coast, all the victims identified as members of violent gangs. He opens the images and immediately wishes he hadn't. They're brutal.

"Jesus. Who is this Ronin guy? And why haven't we done something about him?"

She sighs and then hesitates. "I think it's Clint."

Rhodey blinks a few times because he's not sure he heard her correctly. "Barton? I thought he was a bow and arrow guy. This is...slicing and dicing," he says as he makes a slicing motion with his hand.

"Before he joined SHIELD he freelanced and his skillset was a bit more varied than just the bow and arrow you saw him use with the Avengers. As far as I know he hadn't touched a sword or a blade like that since before he got recruited to SHIELD."

"You're sure it's him?"

She shakes her head. "No. I _ think _ it's him, but I don't have enough information to know definitively. I'm working off the information I can get, but a lot of it is bound to be on paper rather than digital what with the staff shortages everywhere."

_ Barton's gone on a killing spree? _ Rhodey shakes his head in disbelief. The Clint he knew was a pretty easy going guy. A master assassin, sure, but generally a nice guy. _ It doesn't track that he just switched to mindless killing… _"So you think he what… Had a psychotic break?"

He knows immediately it was the wrong thing to say because she stiffens and gets defensive. "He lost everything, Rhodey. His whole family."

"That's not an excuse, Nat."

"I'm not saying it is," she replies quickly. "But it's not like he's taking out innocent people."

He eyes her critically, because the Nat he knew was the one who made the hard calls. The ones in that nasty grey area that everyone tended to avoid. She was calm and logical about anything and everything, and could separate emotions out of decisions better than anyone he'd ever known. But that Nat and the one sitting in front of him are two very people. Barton's sudden disappearance after she'd found out he survived Thanos' fingers snapping had wrecked her. She'd held it together for them when they needed a pillar of strength, and she'd thrown her efforts into everything _ else _ they needed her to focus on, but losing him that way had devastated her. 

"Look," he begins carefully, "I know you and him go way back but this… If it is him...then maybe he's beyond help."

"It's no worse than what I'd done before SHIELD," she counters, clearly undeterred.

He holds in the sigh that forms because he understands her desire to defend him. Despite the ugliness and brutality of the crimes, he really does understand, because if it were Tony he knows he would try to move heaven and earth to help him. "Nat-"

"You asked me why I was dancing, this is why. We've had basically the best resources in the world at our fingertips and I can't do shit to help him get back what he lost. I keep looking and searching for something that we can do but…"

_ There's nothing to do _ he thinks sadly. He'd been in the room when Nat, Steve, Nebula, Rocket, and Danvers were spit-balling anything and everything they could think of to fix it. They'd thought of everything they could, but nothing could undo what was done.

She shakes her head. "I've been trying to keep tabs on him, but…"

"Have you tried contacting him?"

"Of course I've tried," she snaps before she relaxes and looks apologetic for her outburst. "He ditched his cell phone months ago and he's not checking our other usual channels."

"He doesn't wanna be found," he surmises.

She pauses before she responds. "He's my best friend," she explains, her tone wavering just enough to let him know that this has well and truly rattled her. "He saved me from this exact same life back then, except I'd been killing _ innocent _ people. He didn't have to spare my life, but he did. They ordered him to kill me and instead he offered me a chance to try for redemption. I can't- I can't let him just…" she trails off, uncertain of what to say. "He's a good person and I refuse to judge him on this. He didn't judge me when he probably should have. I owe him, Rhodey. I owe him _ everything _."

Rhodey's quiet as he lets her words settle between them. They're filled with pain and regret, and he all at once understands why she had turned to dancing. But these crimes spanned several months, so it probably wasn't the first time she'd nearly danced herself to exhaustion...

"How long has this been going on?"

"Awhile," she answers vaguely.

"So that little workout earlier today wasn't a one-off, was it?"

"No," she admits, and he's a little surprised by her honesty.

"Jesus, Nat. Does Steve know about him?"

She shakes her head. "He doesn't want to know. He's stepped back almost entirely. He's moving back to Brooklyn."

Rhodey's eyes widen slightly in surprise. _ To Brooklyn? He's giving up on the Avengers entirely? _And then he feels a bit bad, because she'd been in this giant facility all alone for probably the entire duration of his trip, with this growing file tormenting her.

"Shit, Nat. I'm sorry."

She shakes her head. "It's not your-"

"Let's put together some more search parameters and have Friday keep scanning," he interrupts. "And I can put some feelers out to some solid contacts I have on the west coast to see if we can get some more info from their investigations. Maybe get enough to actually find out if it's him."

"Rhodey, I'm not asking you to help with this. I know your plate is already full with the liaison stuff. And I'm not going to put you into a position where-"

"You didn't ask. I offered. I know things between you and Tony are still...weird, but you and me are okay, and that means that if my friend needs help and I'm in a position to give it, I'm gonna make it happen."

She holds his gaze and he can see the relief swimming in her eyes. "Thank you," she says finally.

He smiles. "Someone's gotta watch your six."

She smiles back at him. "How were your meetings?"

"Long and mind-numbing, but productive."

She nods. "Good."

"How're the kids doing?" he asks.

When she'd told him about her idea to put together some services for the kids who'd been orphaned by Thanos' actions, he'd encouraged her to reach out to Tony. She'd shaken her head and told him that she and Tony weren't exactly on speaking terms. He'd shrugged and told her to talk to Pepper then, since she'd be the one handling it anyway. She'd looked thoughtful and then nodded.

"Paperwork is paperwork," she says with a shrug. "But the reports say the kids are doing well."

"Good."

"Yeah."

They're silent for a beat. "Hey Nat?"

She turns to look at him again. "Yeah?"

"You good?"

"No," she answers honestly. "But I'm better than I was this morning."

"That's all I can ask for," he replies.


	17. I Thought You Were Blonde

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A peek into how the friendship between Nat and Rocket developed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because I like to imagine that Rocket and Romanoff likely had a series of snarky emails, calls, and conversations over those five years of working together. and because his character perspective presents an interesting opportunity to observe how both she and him changed over those years.
> 
> enjoy.

He's seen and been through some weird shit in his life, but Rocket is pretty sure that traveling through time is a _whole new_ brand of weird. Even with everything he'd seen and experienced with the Guardians, he'd laughed in the Avengers' faces when they told him this time heist plan. Actually laughed. But their expressions hadn't shifted after several moments of his raucous laughter, and he realized that they were actually serious.

"Did we get 'em all?" he hears Big Green ask and he glances up at him, seeing the glow of the green stone in his hand.

Rocket's eyes do a quick sweep of the platform, easily finding the scepter in plain view, and spotting Stark holding a suitcase that he hadn't left with...meaning he was likely successful too. Then it's Rhodes asking "Are you telling me this actually worked?" and his gaze shifts to find the man standing in his suit of armour, holding the familiar orb.

Rocket glances down at the container in his hand that's holding the aether and he can't help the grin from spreading. _We actually did it_ he thinks, excitement getting the best of him. Sure, there's still a **load **of work to be done to get Quill and everyone else back, but they have what they need to do it. Somehow, inexplicably, with this group of absolute _idiots_, they had pulled it off. He opens his mouth to say something exactly to that effect, but then there's a thud as the katana guy with the awful haircut falls to his knees. Rocket's gaze slides to the empty space between the Captain and the katana guy and an uncomfortable feeling settles into his gut as he realizes that not _everyone_ made it back.

"Clint, where's Nat?"

Rocket is quiet, watching the disbelief spread across Banner's face as there's no answer to his question. He sees Clint look up and meet Banner's eyes, and it's then that Rocket _knows_ that she's really gone. But he looks away immediately, because he knows that look - he's seen it before. _Felt_ it before. And he doesn't want any part of that. No, he's had enough pain to last a few lifetimes, thank you very much.

There's another loud thud as Banner smashes his fist on the platform, and Rocket shifts uncomfortably because the feeling that had settled into his gut has solidified, and it's entirely too close to how he'd felt watching Groot drift away as dust, and how he'd felt when Nebula had come back with Stark but no Drax, Mantis, or Quill.

He looks over at Thor and finds a man once again drowning in grief. The peace he'd found after talking with his mother had disappeared with the loss of his friend and teammate, and Rocket lets out a soft sigh. _Poor guy can't catch a break._

Nobody says anything for several moments, and the silence that swells in the room is the loudest Rocket has ever heard. They'd all known that it wasn't a guarantee that everyone would make it. But no matter how much they had prepared themselves, it's still a shock.

He sees Nebula shift around uncomfortably, her calculating eyes scanning the room in a way that he hasn't seen her do in years, and Rocket feels an inexplicable urge to offer some comfort. He knows that like him, Nebula wasn't really close to anyone but she'd respected and shared an understanding with Romanoff. Neither of them particularly _liked_ any of these individuals that make up what was left of the Avengers team, but Red had met them halfway and hadn't put up with anyone's bullshit. She'd been okay...for a human, anyway.

He wants to ask what happened, but it's not hard to read the emotion on Clint's face to know that he's not ready to talk about it. Rocket doesn't know much about the man, but he knows that Red and him had been close friends and that once upon a time he'd done for her what Quill had once done for him. He thinks back to how it felt finding out that Quill was gone, and an unfamiliar wave of sympathy washes over him as he watches the man fight a losing battle against his grief.

Rocket's gaze drifts down to the aether in his hand once more and all he can think is that they better damn well figure out how to get everyone back. They better make her sacrifice worth something. Worth _everything_.

* * *

_"Love what you've done with the place," Rocket snips as his eyes find her desk, swamped with papers, empty mugs, and plates filled with crumbs. Clearly the failure to get the stones back from Thanos has weighed on her heavily. Though to be fair, it's weighed on them all pretty heavily. His eyes don't miss the constantly running searches on various holo screens above the desk though - she may be slovenly and probably in some state of depression, but clearly she isn't useless._

_He's taken a bit by surprise when she chuckles. "You know, here on earth raccoons eat out of the garbage. So I don't think you should be judging me."_

_Rocket frowns, remembering Quill's words from years before. He'd meant to look that up… "What the hell's a raccoon?"_

_She blinks in surprise. "I- You mean no one's told you?"_

_"Told me what?" he snarls defensively._

_"You look like a raccoon."_

_"No I don't," he refutes immediately, just as he'd done with Quill._

_"How do you know you don't if you don't know what one is?"_

_"Because I'm me. I look like __**me**__," he says firmly, fist banging against his chest to punctuate his point. "I don't look like a raccoon because I'm __**not**_ _a raccoon. There ain't nobody like me, except for me."_

_She shrugs. "Whatever you say."_

_"I'm not a raccoon!"_

_"Okay," she says holding up her hands in innocence, but he reads condescension in her tone and expression._

_He frowns and throws a glare her way. "Argh, what the hell d'you know anyway? You're a human. There aren't too many races suckier than humans."_

_She arches an eyebrow. "I may be human, but I can still hurt you," she says casually, but he doesn't miss the glint in her eye. It reminds him __**way**_ _too much of Gamora and Nebula for his liking, and suddenly he's wondering more about who exactly she is and where she'd come from._

_"You got issues, you know that?" he accuses. "We show up and fly you into space, and then offer up our services to help you and your team of misfits keep the peace, and __**you're**_ _threatening __**me**__? Real hospitable."_

_She rolls her eyes. "As if you wouldn't do the exact same thing. I may not know you well, but I know a criminal and a thief when I see one."_

_"That's an awfully big accusation to throw around, humie."_

_"Natasha."_

_"What?"_

_"My name is Natasha," she repeats in an almost infuriatingly calm tone. "If we're going to be working together, we may as well use each other's names."_

_He eyes her for a moment. There's something about her that he can't quite pin down, but she seems like the sort of person he might end up not hating._

_Eventually._

_Maybe._

_"Rocket," he grumbles grudgingly as he glares at her._

_"Nice to meet you," she says politely with a nod. He's surprised by the lack of sarcasm in her tone - she's being genuine._

_"Yeah, yeah," he waves off, filing away a bit more information on this human who is puzzling to him in many ways. "Nebula said Danvers gave you some intel for us?"_

"_Yeah," she says with a nod, shifting back into what he's surmised is her this-is-serious-and-we're-actually-going-to-get-some-work-done tone. "I did a little research from what info we have here and put it together for you. I'll send it to you."_

_He nods and mumbles a mostly quiet 'thanks' as he begins to swipe through the info when it appears on the mobile phone they'd given him and he'd immediately taken apart and modified._

Huh, this ain't bad work _he thinks_. Guess humans aren't totally a waste of space after all…

"_Got everything you need?"_

"_Yeah. We refueled and took some extra supplies. We should be good for a few months."_

"_Okay," she says with a nod. "Let us know if you need anything from us."_

_He holds her gaze and bites his tongue. He __**wants**_ _to tell her that they don't have anything they could ever need, but he knows she's trying the best she can to be helpful. Inexplicably, he feels a flash of empathy - he knows what it's like to be unable to impact a situation in any meaningful way. In fact...they __**all**_ _do now._

* * *

_After months spent chasing down individuals who'd decided to take advantage of a vulnerable universe, he and Nebula had returned to reconvene and restock some supplies they hadn't been able to get elsewhere. Nebula had immediately disappeared, probably to service her guns ad restock ammo, but he'd decided to meet up with Romanoff and get the lay of the land._

_Rocket's a little surprised to find her desk empty - for as long as he's known her, she has always been close to her desk. It didn't matter what time he'd called into the channel, she'd been there. Middle of the day, dead of night, early morning, or late at night - she __**always**_ _answered._

_His gaze sweeps over the desk that he recognizes from their holo-calls. The amount of paper on her desk has grown significantly since he'd first been in the office almost six months before, when they were planning their trip to confront Thanos. There are a lot more plates with remnants of meals than he remembered seeing back then though, but he's pretty sure that at least they aren't the same ones._

"_Oh, hey," she says in surprise as she strides into the room, one hand holding a tablet and the other another plate with a pretty pathetic looking meal. "You sort out that disagreement?" she asks as puts down the plate and slides into her seat, gaze focused on whatever data is scrolling on the tablet._

_"Yeah," he says as he drops his bag and climbs up onto the couch. "Little threat here, little threat there, and all disagreeing parties decided to agree."_

_"There are ways of resolving conflict that don't involve threats, you know," she replies drily._

_Rocket shrugs. "Yeah, but they're no fun."_

_She looks up and eyes him for a second before shaking her head and glancing back down at her tablet._

_"What's with the hair?" he asks, noticing the bright red roots. "I thought you were blonde."_

_"Had to dye it when I went on the run," she explains._

_"So you're a red head?"_

_"Well spotted."_

_"Jeez, Red. Relax."_

_She glares at him briefly before turning her attention back to the tablet._

_"Why were you on the run?" he asks, genuinely curious. He's been mostly following her orders since she decided to take responsibility for coordinating them all, but he doesn't know an awful lot about her. He's had his hands full with the bullshit "problems" that had popped up on the radar -none of which paid __**anything**_ _at all, by the way- and hasn't had the time to do any real research into her or the other humans with whom he's now apparently affiliated._

_"There was a disagreement, some of us ended up in violation of some laws, and some of us ended up in prison."_

_"As explanations go, that's pretty vague."_

_"That's more than most people get," she replies with a shrug, not looking up from her notes._

_"But I'm supposed to follow your orders?"_

_She looks up this time. "If you're acting on the team's behalf, then yeah. If you're doing your own thing, I don't care so long as it doesn't cause me any headaches."_

_He scrutinizes her, carefully considering everything he's learned about her. It's been about six months since they met and he's still trying to form an understanding of who she is. She doesn't strike him as an outright do-gooder, especially with the suggestion of having been on the run for some time, but she's definitely not a criminal either._

_Suddenly she leans back in her chair and rubs her eyes, letting out a heavy sigh. "You drink?" she asks._

_"Yeah," he answers slowly. "But supply's been low lately. I'm gonna try to stock up next time we-"_

_"You ever try vodka?"_

_He shakes his head. "That some human drink?"_

_She nods as she gets up. "Very popular where I'm from."_

_"What's it taste like?"_

_"Water, mostly," she answers with a chuckle. "Some people say regrets."_

_"Humans are weird."_

_She laughs. "Everyone's weird to someone."_

_He frowns as he lets her words roll around, realizing they're right._

_"Here," she says, handing him a glass. He takes it and stares at the clear liquid in it and gives it a sniff, as she sits down in the chair across from him._

_"Cheers," she says, holding up her glass expectantly. He scoots forward and holds up his own glass. She clinks hers to his and then drinks it in one go._

_He glances down at the glass and then follows suit, wincing at the awful taste. "You drink this willingly?" he coughs. "That's awful."_

_She laughs. "I practically grew up with it."_

_"Humans give this to their children? You're a weirder species than I thought."_

_She laughs again. "Not usually. Special circumstances, I guess you could say," she explains as she pours herself another._

_When she moves to put the bottle back down, he gestures with his glass. "Hey."_

_She arches an eyebrow. "Thought you said it was awful."_

_"Yeah, well I don't got a lot of options right now, so I'm gonna take what I can get."_

_She shrugs. "Suit yourself."_

* * *

_"What's your story?" she asks._

_He's a little surprised she's not drunk with the amount she's had to drink. He'd dismissed the vodka as anything of significance after the first taste, but after 4 or 5 glasses, it started sneaking up on him. It was still awful, but it was starting to very slowly numb some of the uncomfortable feelings that had taken root months ago._

_"What'd'ya mean?"_

_"Where'd you come from?" He glares at her because he's used to this kind of scrutiny and curiosity from people. Usually his glare is enough to deter them, but she's unaffected and simply holds his gaze before continuing. "I'm not judging. We're all fucked up in some way. Some of us more than others."_

_"Oh yeah? Even you, princess?" he throws the barb at her, but she shrugs it off easily. It's proving harder than he thought it would to get under her skin._

_"Some would say __**especially**_ _me."_

_"Why's that?"_

_"I was 9 the first time I killed someone."_

_His eyes widen. Nine? For humans that's practically still a baby._

_"Yeah," she says with a nod, noticing his reaction. "See? Everyone's fucked up."_

_"I thought human babies were mostly useless."_

_"Not a baby at 9," she explains._

_"Still not an adult though."_

_"No," she agrees, "not an adult. But I was never really a kid. Wasn't a luxury I was granted. I was trained from a young age to be a killer."_

_"Sounds like Gamora and Nebula," he mutters._

_She tilts her head. "I guess being a daughter of the giant purple asshole doesn't really leave you with many other career choices."_

_He actually chuckles at her description. "No, not really."_

_"But what about you? How'd you end up riding with the rest of the Guardians?"_

_Rocket pauses and considers her question. "Mutual interest in breaking out of prison," he answers simply. He keeps his eyes on her and watches carefully for her reaction._

_She shrugs as she pours another shot for each of them. "As good a place as any, I suppose. But why'd you stick around after that?"_

_"Some circumstances required it and they grew on me, I guess," he answers with a shrug. "And they needed someone to keep 'em focused," he adds as an afterthought._

_She nods in understanding. "Well, for what it's worth, I'm sorry for your friends."_

_"Yeah," he answers gruffly but not unkindly. "Me too. Sorry about your people."_

_She nods again as she pours them each some more vodka. "Thanks."_

* * *

_"Hey, Nat!"_

_He watches her head pop up off the desk and he wonders if she was resting her eyes or if she'd fallen asleep. It's hard to tell through the holo-call._

_"What's up, fur face?" she says tiredly._

_He scowls. "Humans have fur on their faces too, you know."_

_"Significantly less," she retorts with a flash of a small smile. "What's up?"_

_"We sorted out those idiots who were causing the latest trouble that Danvers told us about."_

_"Any casualties?"_

_"Yeah, half my stock of the good stuff."_

_She chuckles. "The morning after the last time you and I drank together you swore up and down you were going to give up drinking."_

_"I have no recollection of that."_

_She laughs heartily. "Figured you wouldn't. You want to see the security footage?"_

_"No, no. That's fine. I'm sure it's corrupted anyway," he says, typing furiously into the computer in the dashboard in front of him._

_"Nice try, Rocket. It's locked down, so stop trying to hack in and erase the evidence. Besides, I made a hard copy."_

_"Bullshit."_

_"Wanna test it?" she challenges._

_His gaze narrows as he tries to get a read on her, but as usual he can't. "Fine. Anything we need to deal with?"_

_She shakes her head. "Nothing that I've heard. Gonna make your way back? Been awhile."_

_He considers it. "Yeah, sure. Why not?" he says, deciding that sleeping in a secure facility and __**not**_ _on the ship would be a nice change._

"_Admit it - you miss us."_

"_Do not."_

_She smiles. "You totally do."_

"_Shut up," he grouses, hating that she's a little bit right. Somehow, against all odds, some of these stupid humans had wormed their way past his defenses._

"_ETA?"_

"_With breaks between the jumps, a couple days probably."_

"_I'll stock up on the vodka," she says with a wink._

_He cringes. "If we're drinking, we're drinking __**my stuff**_ _this time."_

_She laughs, and he realizes that it's the first time he's ever heard it. "Deal."_

_He cuts the call off and leans back in his chair, rubbing his eyes._

"_You talk to Romanoff?" Nebula asks, dropping into the co-pilot's chair._

"_Yeah. Told her we'd make our way back there. We need to restock some supplies and refueling wouldn't be a bad idea either."_

"_Good. Ship could use some repairs too. Easier to do those when we know we're not going to get shot at," she replies in her usual brusque tone._

_He mumbles a few words in agreement distractedly as he sets in the course for earth. His mind goes back over his conversation with Romanoff, and he realizes with a start that he actually doesn't hate her. He still wasn't a fan of the so-called Captain America, and Rhodes was a bit too goody-goody most of the time to tolerate in large doses, but Red? She wasn't all bad, and he was willing to put up with her._

* * *

"Did you know her well?" Quill asks, eyes on the freshly planted tree memorializing Romanoff.

Rocket considers the question. They'd spent five years on a team with one another. Sure, he'd been out patrolling the galaxy with Nebula for most of that time - but the regular holo-calls kept them in touch. And he and Nebula had returned often enough that he'd had the chance to drink with Red on a few occasions.

He thinks of those slightly drunken conversations comparing how she'd been unmade and then moulded into into an assassin, and how he hadn't asked to be made in the first place. And he thinks of those few moments where they were drunk enough to reveal some of the pain they both held inside themselves for their failure to save their friends.

"Well enough," he replies.

"I'm sorry," Quill offers softly, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Rocket's mind lingers on his memories of her and how she had somehow become someone important to him. He was as gruff and defensive as someone could be, but it hadn't pushed her away. In fact, she'd accepted it and dealt some of it right back to him. He thinks about how when he first met her he thought that maybe one day he wouldn't hate her. He **never** thought the day would come where he'd actually miss her if she was gone. He **never** thought he would consider her a friend.

"Yeah, me too" Rocket agrees with a solemn nod. "She was one of the good ones."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the delay with this one...it's been sitting in my drafts folder mostly finished for awhile now.  
hadn't gotten around to chipping away at it more until today.
> 
> thoughts? comments? feedback? suggestions for future? all are appreciated.
> 
> more to come.


	18. Do I Look Like An All-Knowing Being?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam has a near-death experience and finds himself with a familiar face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because their friendship is one I would have loved to see develop further in the films, and I firmly believe that all that time spent together meant that losing her would have been hard for Sam.

Sam turns when he hears Barnes' yell, but it's too late. The armor piercing bullet is already heading straight for him, and he can't get the shield up in time to block it. He feels heat rip through his shoulder and then again through his upper chest as another bullet hits him. Distantly he’s aware of another gunshot, but he doesn’t feel anything else hit him. _ Maybe they missed? _ His gaze tips up as he stumbles backwards from the momentum of being hit and it’s then that he sees Barnes putting down a rifle and running toward him. _ Oh. So that was the other gunshot. _

"SAM!"

He loses his footing and hits the ground hard. The world begins to blur and spin as he moves his hand up clumsily and feels the wetness of his shoulder, knowing instinctively it's too much blood.

Suddenly Barnes is there, pushing harshly on the wounds and making demands. "Hang on, Sam. Already called in the cavalry, you just gotta do your part and hang on. You hear me? Hang on."

Sam grunts as the pain flares at the pressure and he weakly tries to protest, even as his eyes slip shut contrary to his efforts. He knows he should be trying to stay awake, but the adrenaline that coursed through him has already faded away and he’s left grappling with pain that’s sharp, insistent, and sapping every ounce of his remaining energy.

"Hey, c'mon now. Stay awake. No sleepin' on the job, Wilson."

Sam blinks blearily and the world unfocuses entirely. He's vaguely aware that Barnes is still talking to him, but he can't make sense of the sounds. He can feel himself slipping under, the darkness claiming him inch by inch at an alarming rate.

_ Sorry, Cap _ he thinks, because he's pretty sure he didn't live up to the mantle the way Steve was so sure he would.

And then everything goes black.

* * *

Sam’s eyes flutter open and he finds himself in a room that’s as neutral as they come, complete with muted paint colours some psychologists probably declared were soothing, and furniture that was more functional than fashionable but not overtly offensive. He frowns as his eyes continue to adjust to the brightness and his mind begins to try and piece together the fragments of memory that are starting to rise.

“Oh, is Sleeping Beauty finally awake?”

He turns his head sluggishly to find a blurry figure on the chair next to his bed. His eyes haven’t fully adjusted yet so he can’t make out any defining features. _ I know that voice… _ he thinks to himself. It’s familiar, and soothing for some reason.

"C'mon, Wilson," the voice goads, interrupting his musing. "Get your ass up."

The world finally comes into focus enough for him to see the person in front of him and his mouth drops open as he lets out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Nat?"

She rolls her eyes. "No, it's the _ other _ Russian who puts up with you."

The smile spreads before he’s even aware of it. "Hey, girl."

"Hey, birdbrain.”

Suddenly memories of finding out she'd died to save them all drift to the surface and a deep frown creases his brow. He's pretty sure that happened...but he doesn't understand how she's sitting with her feet propped casually up on his bed, looking very much alive.

_ Wait. _

_ Shit. _

_ Did _ ** _I_ ** _ die? _

"Is this real?" he asks, looking around at the non-descript room that isn’t the rebuilt Compound or any hospital he’s familiar with.

"How the hell am I supposed to know? I'm dead," she says with a shrug and a smirk that disappears as quickly as it appears.

Any hope for words has disappeared entirely, and instead he just swallows because a lump of anxiety and confusion has lodged itself there, and because he needs a damn minute to try and wrap his head around it all.

"Am I dead?" he asks finally, doing nothing to hide the worry in his tone and expression.

"Do I look like an all knowing being to you?" she replies, eyebrow arching in a display of silent judgment. Her response is so flippant, so carefree, so _ Nat _, that it hurts.

"You always seemed to know everything," he counters.

Another shrug. "I only acted that way."

Sam scoffs as he shakes his head. "Pretty good act."

"Well, I was the best," she fires back with a wink.

He coughs, clearing his throat that feels rough - from emotion or disuse, he doesn't know. "Uh, what am I doing here?"

"I thought we already covered that I don't really know anything."

"Well what **do ** you know?" he snips and immediately regrets it because she doesn't deserve it. But he can't help it because he doesn't understand and she isn't offering anything to help with that. She's dead, and has been for almost two years and yet she's here sitting next to him, relaxing like it's just any old day. _ Wait...if she travelled backwards in time...does that mean she’s been dead longer than 2 years? _ he wonders idly.

She's quiet for a moment as she pulls her feet off his bed and sits up, leaning forward slightly. He can see the pain in her eyes now, the mirth and relaxation of just a moment ago having faded away entirely. Her expression is the most genuine and open he's ever seen. "I know that I miss you," she says softly.

His heart clenches because he's missed her too. It's been nearly two years, but still it hurts. He'd come back and was told the fate of the planet and maybe the universe hung in the balance of the battle they were about to fight. The battle had been all new levels of chaotic and insanity, and winning had cost them too damn much, but they'd won.

When it was all over, all he'd wanted to do was sleep for a week straight. Maybe a month. But then he'd realized there were still things to do and people to find, so he'd sought out Steve and asked where Nat was because it was incomprehensible to him that she wasn't right there next to her teammates. Steve, eyes and heart heavy with grief, told him she didn't make it. He pressed for some details, because if anyone would overcome the odds it would be Natasha Romanoff, and found out that she'd died to give the Avengers a chance to bring everybody back.

He had struggled to believe Steve that she was just _ gone. _ Gone to a place people don't come back from, not even with magic space stones. Gone because they'd needed the stone and it required a sacrifice. Gone because she had always seemed to care so very little for her own life but cared **so much** for everyone else's. Gone because she'd spent the entire time he'd known her trying desperately to be a good person and make amends for her past that she had released publicly for the greater good. Gone because she'd been a hero and had made the impossible choice. Gone because she had loved them. Gone because she'd believed in the Avengers, in her family.

His voice chokes in his throat and he feels tears pricking his eyes as her words settle heavily on his heart. "I miss you too, Nat," he whispers, because it's all he can force out. The words don’t feel like enough. They don’t describe the grief that had flooded through him when he finally came to terms with the fact that she was gone. And they don't do enough to describe the hole that her death had left in his and everyone else's world.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands up before looking at her again. And just like it had always been, she knows what he needs and opens up her arms to invite the hug. He wraps his arms around her and she's so startlingly solid and warm that his breath catches. It’s not something they did regularly. He could count on one hand that was missing most of its fingers the number of times they had hugged. But holding her, he feels a sense of comfort wash over him. He feels her arms wrap around him tightly in response and he wonders how lonely she's been, separated from the only family she’d ever had.

"I miss you," she says again, the words whispered into his ear. If he hadn't known before, the repeated words confirm it to him - Natasha Romanoff, despite the cool and stoic exterior she so often portrayed, had loved them all deeply.

"I miss you too, girl. So much," he says softly, eyes slipping shut as he squeezes her tighter. Another moment passes quietly before they break apart and he shakes his head, because the doubt and fear is all consuming. "I don't know what the hell I'm doing half the time. I need your crazy Russian ass there to kick me into gear and explain everything to me."

She chuckles gently. "That's what you have Barnes for. He's not Russian by birth but I think he spent enough time there to qualify," she quips, but he hears the slight catch on her breath too.

"Nat," he says, voice quaking a little.

"You're doing fine, Sam," she soothes. "Steve picked you for a reason."

Of course she'd sussed out the reasons beneath his plea.

He shakes his head. "I… I don't-"

"You're doing fine," she repeats. "You're never gonna be the same Captain America that Steve Rogers was. And that's fine. That's **good**. Because the world doesn't need that. The world needs the Captain America that Sam Wilson is gonna be."

He clenches his jaw to hold in his emotions as he lets her words reassure him. Barnes had told him as much, and so had Steve, but somehow coming from her they hold a specific weight that lets them sink in.

"Sorry I didn't get to see you before I went," she says in a practiced casual tone. She says it like she's sorry to have just missed seeing him on a morning jog, or at the coffee shop. But he knows Nat well enough to read beneath it and hear the emotion in her words.

"I'm sorry you had to go," he manages, but he can feel his voice catching again and can feel the grief sneaking up on him like a tidal wave approaching the shore.

She opens her mouth to say something, and somehow he just _ knows _ what she's going to say. "Don't," he says, holding up his hand. "Don't say someone had to do it. I know it had to be done, but I can still hate that it was you."

She smiles softly. Softer than he can ever remember seeing her smile before. "You're a good man, Sam."

"You're a good person, Nat," he counters, choosing to ignore his use of the present tense, because he wants to pretend for just a little while longer that he's actually sitting with her. Hell...maybe he actually is. "And you're a hero, you know that right?"

Her smile widens a bit, and he swears he sees tears in the corners of her eyes. She tilts her chin up at him. "Only because I had good friends," she says meaningfully, holding his gaze. "Only because you all made me that way."

He smiles then, relieved that she accepts his words...even if she attributes so much of the credit to her family instead of herself. But his attention is drawn back to where they are. "I don't think I'm supposed to be here, Nat," he says quietly, somehow knowing in his bones that it's true.

She’s quiet as she holds his gaze. Her eyes are so sad and he feels dread begin to wash over him. "You're here because you wanted to be," she answers softly. He's startled by her words and tilts his head as he considers them. "But you should go back, Sam. You're right. You don't belong here. Not yet."

"Not yet… You mean...is this…?"

She smiles, and it's one of her enigmatic ones. The kind where he knows he isn't going to get an answer out of her.

"Go be a hero, Sam. Your job's not done yet."

"...how do I…?"

She smiles again. "Just decide."

His frown deepens. “What? Nat- I don’t- Please…”

She leans forward and kisses his cheek. “You’re a good man, Sam. Don’t ever let anyone tell you differently.”

“Nat,” he whispers, reaching out to stop her from walking away.

“It’s okay, Sam. You’re not done yet. We’ll be here. Take your time, okay?”

His mouth opens and closes several times as words escape him entirely. But then she’s fading away. Actually _ fading _ away, and he’s reaching out to try and grab her but his hand finds nothing but empty space in front of him.

“Nat! No, Nat!”

And then she's gone and he's all alone. His gaze lingers on where she'd been standing before it tips down to where her feet had been resting on the bed. There's still an indentation in the blankets there and it's a cruel reminder of what he had lost…what they'd _ all _ lost.

He figures he's probably in that inbetween place, half way between life and death. He wonders, of all the people he'd lost over the years, why it was her who had appeared for him. Not any of his relatives, not Riley, not a few close friends he'd lost before meeting Nat and Steve. He's not upset by any means - seeing her had been a true gift. The shock of her just being _ gone _ upon his return had rattled him completely, and even with his wealth of knowledge and experience of the process from his counselling days, coming to terms with losing her had been hard.

But then, Nat had always had a way of cutting through the complicated shit and focusing everyone onto the important parts. She'd been a bit blunt and direct, yes, but never unkind unnecessarily. So maybe she'd been there to offer that to him once more. To cut through the bullshit and get straight to what mattered. Her words echo in his head.

_ 'Go be a hero, Sam. Your job's not done yet.' _

He sighs. _ Guess there's more for me to do. _

* * *

"He's waking up. Hey, Steve, he's waking up."

Sam's eyes open drowsily to find Barnes next to him, and Steve sitting in a chair in the corner of the room.

"Hey, Sam," Steve says. His voice lacks the strength and fullness that it used to have before his trip back through time, but it's still unmistakably _ Steve _.

"Hey," he croaks.

Barnes hops up, pours out some water into a plastic cup, and drops a straw into it before he holds it in front of Sam. Sam takes a quick sip and the water's effect is instantaneous - his mouth already feels better.

"How ya feeling?" Barnes asks.

Sam grimaces. "Like I got shot."

"Well, ya did. Twice."

"You know, I gave you the shield to _ block _ bullets," Steve quips with a little smile.

Sam's head turns slightly to shoot Steve an unimpressed look. "You know what, old man? That's enough out of you."

Steve laughs and Barnes relaxes enough to sit down.

"You alright?" Barnes asks.

"I will be," Sam answers confidently. Nat's words echo in his mind again…_ Your job's not done yet. _ "Not done with the hero gig just yet."

"Good. I wasn't looking forward to handling all that shit by myself."

Sam laughs and then regrets it immediately as pain shoots through his upper chest and shoulder.

"Sorry," Barnes says with a guilty expression.

Sam raises a hand and waves the concern off. "I'll be fine. Just maybe save the jokes for a bit."

"To be fair, that wasn't a joke."

"Barnes, compared to when we first met, that was practically a stand up comedy routine."

He chuckles. "Fair enough. I'm gonna go see if the nurse can get your doctor. They wanted to do a full exam when you woke up."

Sam nods. "Thanks, man."

Barnes dismisses it with a wave as he heads out into the hallway and Sam's gaze shifts to Steve. He's got a strange expression on his face that Sam can't quite work out.

"How are you feeling?" Steve asks as he gets up to shuffle over to the chair Barnes had vacated.

"Not great, but then I guess you aren't really supposed to feel great after getting shot."

"No, I suppose not," Steve says with a chuckle.

"How's Barnes been?"

"Well, he's reviewed all the reports about a dozen times… I think he's convinced that he missed something."

"He get the guy?"

"In a body bag. Buck's always been a good shot. I should know - I've been on the receiving end of a few of his shots."

"C'mon, man," Sam grumbles. "It's already bad enough I got shot, now you gotta one up me?"

Steve laughs. "Gotta make sure you don't forget who held that shield before you did," he teases.

"Oh, that's not about to happen, and you know it. Believe me, you don't need to rub it in."

"Okay, okay," Steve says as he holds his hands up in innocence, a small grin spreading across his face.

"You know, at least I had good music for you after you got shot."

"Troubleman, right?" Sam nods. "You were right, was definitely worth adding to the list."

"You ever finish that list?"

Steve shakes his head once and then smiles gently. "No, Nat kept adding things to it. I never did work out how she was swiping it and adding the stuff, since I had it on me almost all the time. The stuff she added was all over the place too, history, music, movies, events, foods, memes… She knew a bit of everything, you know?"

_ 'Do I look like an all knowing being to you?' _

Sam blinks as the memory of seeing Nat rushes over him suddenly. "After I passed out...I saw Nat," he says abruptly, overcome with the desire to tell someone.

Steve's expression shifts, and Sam reads a whole jumble of emotions on his face. Steve had struggled quite a bit with his grief and guilt after losing Nat and Tony. Sam had been struggling too, and so it had been Barnes, who hadn't known either of them well, who had picked up the slack in terms of providing support to Steve.

"I woke up in this bland and neutral room, but there she was with her feet propped up on my bed like she owned the place."

Steve smiles knowingly and nods. Nat had always walked into every room like she was supposed to be there. Both he and Steve had been scared half to death on a number of occasions by finding her lounging on a couch in their _ locked and alarmed _ apartments, relaxing as though it was her own place. Even when they'd been jumping from safehouse to safehouse, while she was always vigilant -admittedly more so than either of them had ever been- she had somehow also always conveyed an effortless casual vibe wherever they were.

"And I'm confused about where I am and how I got there, so I ask her," Sam continues, making small gestures with his hands to emphasize things. "And _ of course _ she shrugs it off and says how the hell should she know, because she's dead."

He watches Steve's mouth curl into a bittersweet smile. It's a casual reference to her death, yes, but it's also so _ her _ that Sam knows he understands.

"And then I can't help myself because I'm not convinced she's really there, you know? So I hug her...and she felt so real, man. Like...solid, and warm, and like she was _ right there _ with me."

Steve's expression is the same - bittersweet. Sam knows the feeling, and feels a bit guilty now that he's flaunting his experience with their friend right in front of him. It had been many more years for Steve since he'd spent so long in the past, but it's clear to see that the pain of losing her hadn't dimmed all that much.

"I asked her what I was doing there, and she explained that it wasn't my time. That I still had hero stuff to do. But that they'd be waiting there for me."

"Must have been nice to see her," Steve offers, not an ounce of bitterness in his tone. The words are genuine. He knows how much Sam had cared about her. All their time together on the run had forged a tight bond between them.

"It was," Sam agrees with a nod. "I hadn't realized… I never really dreamt about her after the battle. I know most people do when they lose someone, but I never did. It had been so long since I saw her."

"Did it help?"

He nods again. "I don't know if it was real though."

Steve is contemplative for a moment. "I've seen a lot of things in my life...aliens, magic stones, sentient robots, and people with amazing abilities. Who’s to say this one was past the line of believable? And even if it wasn’t real...if it was helpful, does it really matter?”

Sam considers his words. "I guess it doesn’t."

Steve smiles encouragingly again before letting out a heavy sigh. "I really miss her.”

"Yeah," Sam agrees, a sad smile spreading across his face, "me too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? feedback? suggestions?  
I'm all ears.
> 
> more to come...


	19. My Friends Call Me Nat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky meets Natasha...properly this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had a few requests for Bucky. took me awhile to figure out how I wanted to handle it, but I did. so this is for y'all. :)
> 
> enjoy!

"Buck?" Steve says, head lolling to one side lazily to look at his friend as they walk forward slowly.

"Yeah?"

"Tonight was fun, right?"

"Yeah," he replies easily. It  _ had _ been nice to meet up with the guys from the Howling Commandos and spend some time swapping stories over drinks.

"No," Steve replies, tone insistent as he stops walking suddenly, "I mean fun for  **you** ."

It takes Bucky a second to steady them both thanks to Steve's abrupt stop, and he takes the opportunity to tighten his grip around his friend's shoulders.

"Don't worry, Steve. It was fine. Just like old times."

"Good. Don't wanna overwhelm ya, y'know?"

"Sure," Bucky replies with a roll of his eyes. His days of being a shut-in, former Hydra-asset were long behind him, but still Steve worried like a mother hen.  _ Oh, how the tables have turned _ , he thinks as he recalls the worry he'd once held for Steve's poor health. "Hey, your place is this way," he says with a frown when they start walking and Steve tries to take a wrong turn.

"But I wanna see Nat," Steve replies stubbornly. 

"It's pretty late, pal. She's probably already asleep."

"Last to bed and the first to rise," he says, surprisingly clearly.

"What are you, a fortune cookie?"

Steve frowns and then laughs after a moment, clearly having clued into the joke. "'s'not a fortune. It's Nat."

Bucky sighs and then gives in as Steve leads them toward Natasha's place. Why he feels the need to see her this late Bucky has no idea, but there's only so much he can do to try and persuade a super soldier otherwise...especially one as stubborn as Steve.

Ten minutes later they've arrived outside her house, and Bucky's surprised to see there's actually a light on.  _ Well I'll be damned _ .

Before he can even try to stop him, Steve has surged forward out of his hold to the door and knocked twice. "Nat!" Steve calls out excitedly when the door opens, revealing a very confused, but decidedly awake Natasha. _ _ "Guess what!"

She lets out an oomph of surprise as he stumbles forward into her arms, and she takes a few steps backward to balance them both. Frankly, Bucky's surprised she's even still on her feet, because the dead weight of Captain America was not something easily handled.

"Steve...are you drunk?"

"Yeah!" he answers with an impossibly wide grin, and Bucky can't help but shake his head, even as he steps forward into the house to offer some help steadying the super soldier.

A shake of her head assures him she's got the situation under control, and he relaxes slightly as he watches her get Steve balanced. "Is there a stash of Asgardian liquor here that I don't know about?"

"Apparently his metabolism in death isn't quite the same as it was in life," Bucky offers in explanation with a shrug.

Natasha frowns and turns her gaze back to Steve. "How are you just finding this out now? You've been here a long time..."

His grin hasn't faded and he shrugs. "Didn't think to try. But Nat, I can  **drink** now."

"You could drink before," she points out while doing a terrible job of hiding her smirk, "you just couldn't get drunk. Two different things, Rogers."

"You know what I meant," he mumbles as wraps his arms clumsily around her in a tight hug again. "You always know what I mean."

"How much did you have?"

"'nuff to remember why folks like getting drunk," he mumbles into her hair. Even half hidden, Bucky can see the stupidly wide grin on his face. "I love you. You know that, right? I never told you that before I don't think."

Natasha reaches up to lift his head away from her hair and then smiles warmly up at him as she breaks the embrace but keeps ahold of him. Bucky feels a smile spread across his own face because it's easy to see the tight bond they share and how much they care about each other. He's so glad Steve had that while he'd been the so-called Winter Soldier.

"O...kay. I think it's time for us to find you a bed, Steve," she says as he leans and nearly falls over.

"Bit forward of you, Nat," Steve slurs with a dopey grin that Bucky supposes is meant to be teasing. "Thought you knew my heart's taken," he slurs.

She rolls her eyes. "To sleep, Steve. A bed for you to sleep in.  **Alone** ."

"Oh," he says as he nods thoughtfully, "yeah, that sounds good. You got one of those?"

"Yeah, I think I have a bed, Steve," she answers with a chuckle. "Gimme a hand here, Barnes, would you?"

"You sure? I can probably get him back to his place," he offers, mindful that they had dropped in on her completely unannounced.

She waves it off with her free hand as she passes Steve's weight onto him before turning to shut the front door behind them. "He's in no shape and I've got a couple spare bedrooms you two can stay in."

"Much obliged," he answers with a quick nod of his head. "Where we headed?" he adds, readjusting his grip around Steve.

"There's a bedroom just down there," she says nodding down the hall before slipping an arm around Steve's waist.

"My two best friends," Steve mumbles turning his head to look at Bucky and then Natasha. "Both of you… I'm just so grateful, you know? To have both of you in my life. I'm so lucky. Of all the people to meet, and I got to meet you two."

"He's a sappy drunk?" she says incredulously.

"It's not sappy," he protests. "I love you guys. That's the truth. And I'm always honest. Always."

"You know, it's a good thing Captain America couldn't get drunk. The media would've had a field day," she quips.

Bucky barks out a laugh because she's so right.

"Was he like this as a kid?"

"Nah, he never had to put effort into getting drunk. He was so scrawny before the war that one sip would send him into a tailspin."

Steve frowns. "You're not s'posed to tell her that."

"Hate to break it to ya, pal, but I think she already knew. Besides, she's Russian - she could probably drink us both under the table, serum or no serum."

"Only with wodka!" Steve adds cheekily.

Natasha cringes. "Was that supposed to be a Russian accent? Stick to the Brooklyn drawl, Rogers." Steve's frown returns again and she laughs. "But you're not wrong, Barnes," she adds with a wink as she meets his gaze.

"I just call 'em like I see 'em, doll."

She scoffs. "Did that actually work back in the forties?"

"Most of the time," Steve answers.

"Some of the time," Bucky corrects. "And not as often as I'd have liked."

"Don't listen to 'im, Nat," Steve pipes up. "He was a ladies man!"

"Mmhmm, thanks for the info, Rogers," she replies as they finally reach the room. "You got this?"

"Yeah, I got it," Bucky answers and then turns his attention back to Steve, who's swaying pretty significantly.

"The other spare room is just across the hall, otherwise I'll be up for awhile in the den if you want some sober company," she replies before turning on her heel and heading out of the room.

"You ready, pal? Let's not make this any harder than it has to be okay?" he says, turning to Steve and finding the man already face down on the bed.

"Don't worry, Buck. I got this," he mumbles into the pillows.

Bucky laughs. "Yeah, I'm sure you do."

* * *

"He out?" she asks without looking up from her book as he walks through the doorway.

"Like a light," Bucky answers with a grin as he drops onto the other end of the couch she's curled up on.

"Guess this means I'm on the hook when he gets up in the middle of the night, confused about where he is," she quips.

"Enjoy it while you can...kids grow up so fast."

She laughs lightly as she closes her book and puts it down on the table. "You know, I just realized that we haven't really been properly introduced."

Bucky's startled to realize that she's right.  _ Go figure that the always painfully polite Steve Rogers would forget to introduce his two best friends _ , he thinks as he holds in a chuckle.

She leans forward and holds out a hand which he grasps tightly and shakes, completely unsurprised by the firmness of her grip. "Natasha Romanoff," she says with a small smile.

"James Buchanan Barnes," he returns with a smile of his own. "But everyone calls me Bucky." Her nose crinkles ever so slightly and his brow creases into a frown. "What?"

"Nothing," she says with a shake of her head. "Just...Bucky? Really?"

He shrugs. "Nickname stuck, what can I say?"

"Fair enough." Then she's quiet for a beat with an almost contemplative expression on her face. "You know, Steve wants me to get to know you."

"Yeah, he told me the same about you."

"Guess he figures we have some things in common."

"Probably," he agrees. And Steve's not wrong - they probably  _ would _ have quite a bit in common. "But I think he is conveniently forgetting that I tried to kill you at least three times," he adds, feeling the pangs of regret. There's a lot to regret about his time as the Soldier, and trying to kill the woman who turned out to be a close friend of  _ his _ best friend was high on that list.

She surprises him again by waving off the unspoken apology. "That was the Winter Soldier, not you. Believe me when I say that's a distinction I'm quite familiar with."

_ Right _ .  _ The Black Widow.  _ ** _Of course_ ** _ she'd understand what it was like to not even be aware that your mind isn't your own, and then to live with the guilt of the horrors your hands had wrought when you do find out. _

"You want a drink?" she offers suddenly, startling him out of his thoughts. "Because I could use some  _ wodka _ ," she adds, flaunting an absolutely terrible Russian accent that was still better than Steve's.

He chuckles. "Sounds good. Unlike our mutual friend passed out down the hall, I know how to handle my liquor."

She laughs as she makes her way over to the freezer in the adjoining kitchen and pulls out a familiar bottle. She pauses for a moment by the cupboard to snag two glasses, and then rejoins him on the couch. She pours out some vodka into each glass and then pushes one over to him before holding up her own.

"What're we drinking to?" he asks.

She looks thoughtful for a moment. "Mutual friends?" she offers.

He grins and nods as he clinks his glass to hers. "To mutual friends."

* * *

An hour later they've made their way through nearly half the bottle, both electing to sip at their drinks and savour the taste rather than chase the drunkenness Steve had been so happy and eager to experience again. Most of their conversation had centred on stories about Steve, since he was the common thread between them. Bucky offered tales of their shared childhood and war stories, while Nat brought him up to speed on Steve's efforts at modernizing and tales of the Avengers. They'd covered some of the basics too, confirming some snippets of information they'd each heard from Steve about the other, and delved into some random topics like the best pizza style, where the best pretzels were from, and favourite books.

The conversation had been easy and mostly light-hearted conversation to that point, but Bucky knows that alcohol and two generally melancholy souls won't allow for that to be sustained much longer. Back before the war he'd been social and had enjoyed nights out, but being the Winter Soldier for so long had left him a bit subdued and with a preference for solitude. He guesses that having spent most of her life in the world of espionage, she's probably much the same in her preference for quiet and time alone. Still, despite the late hour and everything else...he's enjoying talking with her.

"Do you remember much of Russia?" she asks, breaking the silence and steering them into another common thread, albeit a more painful one for them both. He recognizes the olive branch though, knowing she's worded her question deliberately to offer a chance to dip their toes into a more significant topic without pushing it. He could easily shrug off the question and steer it back into safety, or he can take the branch and dive a little deeper.

He twists his wrist around, watching the liquid twirl in the glass as he mulls his answer over. "Some. Most of the time I spent there was in cryo." She nods understandingly.  _ Okay, let's see how this goes _ , he thinks, deciding to delve deeper because there's just something that makes it easy to talk to her. "Did you spend much time there after joining SHIELD?"

She shakes her head. "They kept me away from most of Eastern Europe for awhile. Probably to make sure I wouldn't double-cross them and rejoin the Russians with new information."

"Or maybe to give you time to recover," he counters, because somehow in his afterlife he's become something of an optimist. Some of the time, at least.  _ Go figure _ .

"Maybe both," she concedes as she pours herself a bit more vodka. "Fury was the one who made those decisions about me in my early years at SHIELD, and he wasn't a  _ complete _ asshole, so yeah, maybe you're right."

He offers a fleeting smile at her half-hearted joke but then presses, "But after that?" because he gets a sense she's willing to share a bit more. Maybe even  _ wants _ to. Life after death had let him relax and open up a bit more and he wonders if maybe it's done the same for her. Plus, he's curious. He knows that he'd wanted to head to Brooklyn shortly after breaking his conditioning to find some foundation to build on, and he wonders if she'd felt that same desire to go back to her roots.

"I had a few missions there over the years, and I went back once after we took down SHIELD."

"Unfinished business?" he guesses. They both had a hell of a lot of that.

She nods. "Took down some folks who thought keeping the Red Room up and running was a good idea."

He nods because he knows exactly how important that closure can be. Once his memories had begun to return, he'd wanted to hunt down every last one of his handlers from over the years and exact some serious revenge.

She hesitates for a moment, taking a long, drawn out sip from her glass. Bucky doesn't press, instead affording her some time to gather her thoughts. He doesn't know her well, but he knows enough from Steve's stories and what he's gleaned from their conversation so far that she's a private person. Sure, maybe life after death had helped her open up some, but at her core her impulse was still to keep things private. He gets that. Even if the Soldier had all but disappeared from his mind, he remembers the desire to keep things to himself at almost all costs. 

She lets out a soft, almost silent sigh that pulls Bucky back out of his musing in time to hear her quiet words. "And then I tried to find my parents."

He throws back the last sip of his glass and then nods his thanks as she grabs the bottle immediately to pour him some more. He wonders if they would ever have shared secrets like this when they'd both been alive, if circumstances had allowed.

"You find them?"

She nods, and he can see shades of sadness in her eyes and her expression. "Two gravestones by a chain link fence."

"I'm sorry," he offers, because he's not sure what else to say. He'd lost the memories of his childhood for decades but had gotten them back eventually. She'd never had any to begin with - the assholes had stolen them from her before she could even have them. And there was so much that was so incredibly sad about that. "Do you know how they died?"

She shakes her head. "There weren't any details, and I couldn't find anyone who'd been around back then without raising suspicion. And besides, I don't even know if…"

He watches as she trails off, and knows that whatever this doubt is, it's been eating at her for awhile. "If…" he prompts gently, sensing she needs the push this time.

Another sigh. "If they were even my parents." His brow creases as he frowns, which prompts an explanation from her. "Did Steve tell you about the Soul stone's guardian?"

He nods. "That Red Skull bastard we fought in the war was cursed to watch over and guide others to a stone he couldn't ever get his grubby hands on."

She nods. "He greeted us by name, and with a parent's name. Clint, son of Edith. Natasha, daughter of Ivan," she recites from memory.

His frown deepens, because he knows her full name, and understands the Russian usage of patronymics. Natasha  _ Alianovna _ Romanoff meant her father's name was Alian.

"I found the gravestones of Alian Mikhailovich Romanoff and his wife, Nika Petrova Romanoff."

"Because you followed the Russian naming custom."

"Exactly. But if the Red Skull said daughter of Ivan, then maybe they aren't really my parents. Or maybe they gave me up willingly and Ivan was just a part of the Red Room I don't remember."

Bucky feels a pang of sympathy. Even in death she's still tortured by pieces of her past. "Or maybe they  _ were _ your parents and they  _ didn't _ give you up willingly."

She shrugs and throws back the rest of her drink somewhat harshly. "Just frustrating, you know?"

He nods because in a way, he can relate. He'd spent decades as the Soldier who had no life story beyond his training and his missions, and he remembered what it was like to have a blank slate for a past. "You could find them now," he suggests.

Her expression shifts and he finds himself a little surprised by how much she's sharing and allowing him to see. They are acquaintances…not friends, despite what Steve might hope, and he's not so naïve to believe that it's the alcohol loosening her tongue. He hadn't been kidding when he said she could probably drink him under the table.

"I don't know if I'm ready for that," she admits, eyes focused on her glass as she idly rubs her thumb up and down the side. "Hell of a first conversation, don't you think? I didn't even know them."

"But they knew you," he counters, and then hesitates because he's certain they don't know each other well enough for this. But there's something about her that prompts him to press forward anyway. "And maybe this is something you can get back."

She exhales and pours herself a refill before topping his glass up as well, nearly finishing the bottle in the process. "Maybe," she acquiesces. "I just don't think I'm ready for that. Not yet."

"Well," he drawls as a grin spreads across his face in an effort to lighten the mood, "not like we have anywhere else to be, so you can take your time."

"True enough," she says with a smile. "Hey…you hungry?"

"I could eat."

"Think I've got some roasted chicken we could make some nachos with. That sound okay?"

"Okay? I think I'm falling in love with you, Natasha."

She groans and rolls her eyes. "Get your ass up, Barnes, I'm not making 'em alone."

He throws back the rest of his drink and then hops up quickly. "Yes, ma'am!" he says with a salute.

"Literally nothing has changed," she grumbles. "I'm still surrounded by idiots."

He laughs. "Hey, you chose these idiots."

"Not all of them," she counters. "I inherited you with Steve."

His laughter grows as he follows her into the kitchen. "That's just mean, Natasha."

"Nat," she corrects immediately.

"Huh?"

"My friends call me Nat."

"So we're friends, huh?"

He'd expected they would chat, and maybe reach some sort of understanding, but forming a friendship hadn't been something he thought would happen given everything in their shared past.

"Well, what else do you call the people who carry their mutual drunk friend to bed together?"

"Got me there," he says with a laugh and a wide grin.

She gives him a pointed look as she hands him the chips and a tray, and he immediately begins arranging them into an even layer. It doesn't take him long and he glances over to find her shredding the leftover chicken she'd mentioned. "Salsa?" he asks.

"Shelf on the right hand side of the fridge," she answers without looking up. "Cheese is in the drawer. It's not shredded yet unfortunately. I think the cheese grater is in that cabinet," she finishes with a vague nod toward their left.

"Copy that," he answers before beginning to pull out the ingredients.

"There might be some jalapenos in the fridge too, if you want." He hesitates, still not quite used to spicy and flavourful foods despite Sam's best efforts at introducing them into his diet. He still tended to gravitate to the meat and potatoes or pasta type meals. "Oh, come on, live a little," she teases when she notices his hesitation. "Some jalapenos aren't gonna kill ya."

He flashes a guilty smile and grabs the peppers before focusing on beginning to grate the cheese.

"It took me awhile to get used to the food too," she explains, expertly sussing out the root of his hesitation. "I was used to bland stews and oatmeal in the Red Room, and some fancier food on the occasional mission that required attendance at a party or gala. The first time Clint took me out for a proper dinner I was overwhelmed. First time Laura cooked me a proper home cooked meal and baked a homemade dessert, I could've sworn I'd died and gone to heaven."

"Sam did his best to try and show me some stuff, but there wasn't much in the way of spice growing up, and when I wasn't in cryo it was all that bland food engineered for efficiency. Tough habit to break."

"Get Steve to cook for you," she advises. "He can help you out with easing you into the flavours. He took some cooking classes, and he's not bad actually."

One eyebrow arches doubtfully.  _ She can't be serious…  _ "Steve took cooking classes?"

She nods. "I  _ may _ have made a suggestion."

"Suggestion, or  _ suggestion _ ?"

She grins. "I apologize for nothing, it was totally worth it. And he enjoyed it. He's lying if he tells you differently."

Bucky holds up his hands. "I'm not arguing, but  _ am _ very much looking forward to exploiting this skill of his."

"Do you cook much?" she asks as she pushes the now completely shredded chicken aside and then starts to slice the peppers. Her incredibly fluid movements surprise him until his brain kicks in and remembers she's a trained assassin who'd made a living handling knives and other such weapons.

"Uh, I have a few recipes I used to help my ma out with that I'll make now and again, but it's not really my strength. What about you?"

"I learned some basic stuff when I finally got my own place after joining SHIELD. Never figured I'd like it, but it was oddly relaxing so I kept adding different stuff to my repertoire. And Laura was ecstatic to have someone to help her cook for the family, so she taught me a bunch too."

He tilts his head as he mulls her answer over. It's not surprising in the least to him that she enjoyed cooking, though he can't really pinpoint why.

They're quiet as they finish prepping the nachos, and once they're in the oven baking she hops up to sit on the counter while he leans his hip against it next to her.

"Do you miss the arm?"

He'd been fortunate and very thankful to wake up in the afterlife with both his arms intact. The phantom limb pain and the very real pain in his shoulder along the attachment points were not things he missed. Still, the sheer power and versatility of it…

"Not really," he answers when he realizes he hadn't said anything aloud yet. "It was painful a lot of the time, so it's nice not to have that." She hums in agreement. "I do miss being able to kick Steve's ass though. That thing was seriously powerful."

"You got a version of the serum right?"

"Yeah."

"So, train up a bit and I bet you could give him a run for his money."

He barks out a laugh. "Steve told me you were competitive. Also told me you wiped the floor with him the first time you guys sparred."

"Oh yeah," she answers with a chuckle. "Old man was way too chivalrous. I took him down in less than a minute."

"Oh, Stevie," he exhales. "He's always been terrible with dames."

"I straightened him out eventually. Taught him a few things."

He scoffs. "A few things? I watched him fight back in the war, and I fought him in D.C. - like night and day."

"He was an excellent brawler, he just lacked some finesse."

"Well, you must be an excellent teacher, 'cause he nearly got the better of me then."

"You could train with me," she offers. "I know there's no  _ need  _ to train bere, but I'm so used to it that it's weird not doing anything, so I still keep up with it."

He considers the offer. He'd never done particularly well with spare time or energy, and he knows she's an accomplished fighter, particularly in hand to hand. There'd be a bit of a learning curve for sure now that he doesn't have the arm, but it could be a good thing to occupy some of his time.

"Yeah, maybe," he hedges. "I'll think about it."

"Promise I won't embarrass you too badly," she says with a wink.

"Oh, I have a feeling that's not gonna be true," he laughs.

"Once you're up to par, we'll set you loose on Steve."

"Nah," he waves it off, even if the idea is appealing. "His metabolism may be back to normal, but he's still a super soldier."

"C'mon, Bucky. Now that he knows he can drink we can't let him get lost in the bottle," she goads, throwing another wink at him for good measure.

"You are ridiculous, you know that?" he says, shaking his head.

"I've been told a time or two…" she grins.

It's quiet for a beat.

"Do you remember your time as the Soldier?" she asks softly, almost hesitantly.

"Some, yeah. Think all the wipes in that damned chair scrambled my brain a bit though."

"I can't imagine…"

"You probably have a better idea than most. I know the Red Room wasn't exactly a walk in the park."

"True, but it's not exactly the same."

"Close enough," he counters. "I know they used some brainwashing techniques and some less than humane training techniques. Handcuffing girls to beds? Fights to the death between 10 year olds? That's messed up."

She frowns. "How do you know so much about the Red Room?"

He hesitates a second because he knows his answer is going to cause some waves for her. "I did some time there as a trainer."

Her expression is unreadable, but her eyes fill with questions immediately.

"Not while you were there," he expands quickly, "but I was there for a little while. I didn't know it then because I was so deep under the conditioning, but once I got my memory back…" he trails off. "What I saw there...what I did…"

"It wasn't you, Bucky," she says. Her voice is gentle and he knows she's trying for some reassurance, but he can see the conflicting emotions in her eyes. He knows that imagining him as one of the people who had inflicted the pain on the girls can't be easy.

"Doesn't make it okay," he replies, feeling the weight of the guilt on his chest.

She hops off the counter and opens the oven to check on the nachos. Apparently they're baked to her satisfaction, so she pulls the tray out and places it between them.

"Hey," she says gently, waiting for his gaze to rise and meet hers. "Stop blaming yourself for that. It was a long time ago, and you weren't in control. I know it's hard, but you have to forgive yourself for that. Believe me, there's a lot in my past that I spent a long time feeling guilty about and doing everything I could to try and make up for. But I wasn't in control then, just like you weren't in control then."

Bucky stays quiet, trying to absorb her words.

"You did good in the world too. Taking care of Steve when you were kids, everything you did in the war, saving Steve's life by fishing him out of the Potomac, fighting against Thanos  _ twice _ , and then all those years with Sam… You're not a bad person, James," she finishes softly. Hearing his given name is startling but not unwelcome, and he feels a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, despite the emotional charge of the moment.

She holds his gaze for a few seconds before reaching down to snag a chip from the tray. Her words wash over him and he thinks about her story of redemption, and how firmly she seems to believe in his.

"Thanks, Nat," he says finally.

She nods and offers a reassuring smile before grabbing another chip. "Better get in here, Barnes or I'll eat them all. And I won't feel bad about it."

He smiles.  _ Yeah, I can see why Steve likes her so much. _

"And by the way, James," she adds, "I'm not calling you Bucky."

He grins. Yeah, he's okay with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> never figured that this one would end up being one of the longer ones, but here we are.
> 
> thoughts? comments? suggestions?  
I'm all ears.
> 
> more to come...


	20. Are You Trying to Make Me Cry?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lila reunites with her family in the afterlife and has a long overdue conversation with her aunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because I'm a sucker for Auntie Nat, and because poor Lila deserved some closure after her last chapter.
> 
> (and yes, the chapter title seemed very appropriate given how often y'all seem to be crying when reading these!! 😉)
> 
> Enjoy.

Lila takes a moment to observe her parents who are, as they have so many times before, lovingly bickering as they prepare dinner. They’re completely oblivious to her presence for once, which is a little surprising because they’d both somehow always had that sixth sense to know when she or her siblings were around. She doesn’t mind that they haven’t noticed her presence though, because after so many years of living without them she knows it’s a gift to be back with them again.

Yes, she’d had to leave behind her children to get there, but she’d lived a long and full life. It had been her time, and frankly, considering her stint as an agent and all the potentially world-ending invasions and events that had happened throughout her life, it’s a miracle she’d lived as long as she did. Of course she misses her children, but she’s content to know they’re okay and taken care of by their loved ones, not to mention that they have each other to lean on.

“No love left for your only daughter?” she teases from the doorway after getting her fill of observing them from afar.

They both turn immediately and the shock and subsequent wide smiles that register on their faces make Lila laugh.

“Lila?” her mom whispers with eyes that are already tearing up.

_ Goddamn it, Mom. If you cry, I’m gonna cry… _she thinks to herself as her feet begin to step forward.

“Hey,” she replies softly. Her mom crosses the room in mere seconds, and then Lila finds herself enveloped in a hug that she’s longed to be in for so long. At some point, and she’s honestly not sure when, her dad’s arms replace her mom’s and it’s just as familiar and she’s missed it just as much.

“Hey, kiddo,” he says as they break the embrace. “Good to see you.”

“You too,” she manages, swiping underneath her eyes to remove the evidence of the tears that had been inevitable despite her efforts. “Both of you,” she adds, gaze sliding to meet her mother’s eyes. And then, because she’d inherited her father’s penchant for shit-disturbing, she can’t help but add, “So this is death, huh?”

They both scoff and laugh, too used to her humour to do anything else.

* * *

Her husband joins them an hour later, and they all sit down to dinner. They swap stories they’d never had the chance to share before, reminisce about their time on earth, and the three of them begin to give her the quick overview of the afterlife.

“So is everyone here?" she asks, curious if it's just her immediate circle that she sees, or if it's really just another existence of sorts with a near endless world.

"Well, best we can gather the assholes didn't get in."

"Clint!" her mom admonishes. Lila can’t help the chuckle that escapes.

"What?” he protests. “She's a grown woman. She's heard me swear before."

"We're at the dinner table!"

"Dinner was finished ages ago."

"We're still at the table…"

And then her husband, _ bless him _, steps in deftly just as he'd done so many times over the course of their life together, clearly reading the terrain and knowing they'll bicker for at least another few minutes with no intervention. "I think what he meant is that the folks who were...less than good in life don't get entry here."

"That's exactly what I said, but in double the words," her dad quips with a subtle roll of his eyes.

Lila sees her mom's head drop into her hands. "Honestly, Clint."

He grins cheekily. "You love me."

"God only knows why…" she lobs back, but her smile belies the words.

"Okay," Lila interrupts, trying to get them back on track, "so no assholes." She sees her mother cringe at the blunt comment and she fights a smile. "But everyone else?"

"Who are you asking about?" her dad asks knowingly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth

He'd always been a fun dad, making sure to be completely invested in any and all of their games and activities when he was home. He did it all, from tea parties and pillow forts to elaborate hide and seek marathons and archery lessons. As she’d grown up into an adult, their relationship had shifted to one of bantering and light-hearted snarky comments, so it wasn’t surprising to her that he was enjoying stringing her along.

"Why are you asking a question you already know the answer to?" she retorts.

He holds her gaze for a moment, a gentle smile spreading. "Yes, she's here."

"Can I see her?"

His smile shifts to a smirk. "Why are _ you _ asking a question you already know the answer to?"

"Dad," she chastises with a roll of her eyes. She was used to his shenanigans, but her patience was starting to wear a little thin...

"Of course you can," he relents. "She'll be so happy to see you again."

As happy as she is to hear the confirmation that her aunt is here, she can feel emotion begin to pool in her chest as memories of being told about Nat's sacrifice rise to the surface of her mind. It had been devastating. She remembers the questions that had swirled around her mind about her aunt’s death, and remembers those bittersweet moments that came up in the years after where she’d wanted nothing more than to talk to her again. Truthfully, she doesn’t think she ever really got over losing her so abruptly. Not fully at least.

"Where can I find her?"

To his credit, her dad seems to sense the shift in her emotions and gets up immediately to grab a pen to scribble some instructions on a note pad before tearing the page out and handing it to her.

"Tell her it's been too long since we had a proper family dinner, and that we expect to see her next week sometime," her mother adds.

Lila smiles and nods her understanding before getting up and giving her husband a quick kiss. "I'll meet you at the house later," she says softly.

He squeezes her hand in a silent show of love and support and then nods. "Take your time."

* * *

Her stomach is a bundled mess of nerves and anticipation as she stands in front of the door to Natasha's house. From as early as she could remember, Nat had been a part of her life. Sure, the visits and calls had been sporadic at times, and yes, things had gotten messy after her dad retired, but she'd still been Auntie Nat. The one who could dole out tough love and warm empathy in the same sentence. The one who let her push the envelope on some things and encouraged her to try new things. The one who brought her little trinkets from around the world and taught her ballet in the front yard on so many long summer days.

In the immediate aftermath of finding out about Nat’s death, she had panicked because she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her, or what their last conversation had been about. Now, decades later, a door is the only thing between reuniting them and she’s equally excited and inexplicably scared. She summons courage from a place she can’t name, and raps her knuckles on the door, letting out a heavy exhale as she does.

Then the door opens and she finds herself face to face with her aunt for the first time in decades. There's an expression of shock on Nat’s face, but Lila can see the happiness too. Before she can manage to say anything, Nat's arms are wrapped around her tightly, almost fiercely, and all she can think is that her hug feels the _ exact _ same as she remembered.

"Lila," Nat says appraisingly as she steps back to look at her, hands framing her face lovingly.

Lila smiles and feels her eyes fill. _ Goddamnit _ she curses even as she realizes her efforts at stemming the tears had always been a losing battle. "Hi," she replies softly, because it's all she can force out.

"I can't believe how big you are," Nat says with a chuckle. "You were barely up to my shoulders last time I saw you, and now…"

Lila's smile widens. "You look the same," she replies. Same green eyes, same red hair, same tender smile. It's strangely comforting in a way to know she hasn’t changed, even if Lila is now an adult.

"One of the perks of this place. It lets us age at the rate and direction we want," she quips. "C'mon in, kid."

Lila's gaze sweeps over the rooms in front of her, finding, in a slightly surprising twist, warm and inviting decor. She had always assumed that Nat's room at the farmhouse had been warm and homey because that's how it was when it was given to her. Now Lila wonders if the decor here is because that's what Nat had been used to at the farmhouse, or if it was truly to the taste of Natasha Romanoff.

They're both doing a terrible job of being subtle about their scrutinizing of the other, but then...they're dead, so does it really even matter?

"I hope this goes without saying," Lila says bravely, because she knows it's a matter of _ when _ , not _ if _she's going to cry, "but I've really missed you."

Nat smiles, a little sadly, Lila thinks. "I've missed you too, _ myshka _. You have no idea how much."

Lila blinks rapidly to try and stem the rising tide of her tears. "I might have an idea," she replies softly. A beat, and then she adds, "I came back to a world where you were just...gone. I didn't…” she trails off and exhales. “It was hell, Aunt Nat."

Lila sees the emotion on her aunt's face, plain as day, and she's a little surprised. Nothing had ever rattled Nat. She'd never been cold or callous to her or her brothers, but Lila had also never seen her cry or get upset.

"I'm sorry, Lila."

Lila shakes her head. "You saved the universe. You so do not have to apologize for that."

"Yeah, but I left behind some very important people," she replies softly with a slight tilt of her head as she reaches forward to squeeze one of Lila's hands.

And then the dam finally breaks and Lila's eyes spill over with tears.

"I don't regret what I did. But I do regret not leaving you with anything. I should have written a letter or something."

"Mom told me that you'd been at the house over those years that we were gone, keeping things clean."

Nat nods and smiles again, but stays quiet.

"I kept thinking I was going to find something that you'd hidden away."

"Sorry," she apologizes, "I didn't think of it. I probably should have the last time I was there, especially given what we were about to do...but I guess I was feeling optimistic."

"Well, you _ had _managed to survive a hell of a lot up to that point."

Nat smiles. "Still, I had a feeling…"

"You did?"

"I knew Thanos had gone there with his daughter, who he’d cared about dearly, and left without her, so there was a possibility. I should have listened to my gut. I was too excited that we might actually pull it off and get everybody back."

Lila can't verbalize anything, and Nat reaches over to squeeze her hand again.

"But enough about me. Tell me about you. Your dad told me you grew up to be an agent?" she prompts, gesturing for them to sit on the couch nearby.

"Yeah, the next iteration of SHIELD."

"Run by Fury I'm guessing?"

"For a bit. He retired-"

"Fury actually retired? For real?"

Lila laughs. "Yeah, said he was too old to keep putting up with all the world's shit."

Nat laughs this time. "Yeah, that sounds like him. Bastard told me he worked 'til the day he died."

Lila laughs, familiar with Nick Fury's shenanigans. "Anyway, I did a few years service there before I retired from fieldwork. Got married, had a couple kids, and lived my life."

Nat smiles warmly. "Thanks for the summary, but I'm gonna need more than that, kid. Indulge an old aunt, would you?"

Lila smiles and then delves more into detail. Nat asks questions about things now and then, but mostly she just listens and smiles. It's clear that she is beyond thrilled to be talking with her de facto niece again. Lila can't understand what it was like to choose to give up your life knowing that you'd never see your family and friends again, and she can't understand what it's like to get them back one by one after so much time.

"...and I knew as soon as we found out it was a girl that I wanted to name her after you."

Nat's head shakes in disbelief. "I don't know what to say, Lila. When your dad told me you'd named her after me…I was speechless. Still am."

"I know Nate was named after you, but it just felt right. You were important to me and I wanted to honour the place you'd had in my life," Lila says firmly. That decision had been an easy one, and her husband had understood and supported her wholeheartedly. "She grew up hearing bedtime stories about your adventures, and asking me endless questions about you."

Nat's smile widens and Lila presses on, this time into territory that's a little more emotional because she’d held in so many of her feelings about losing Nat for so long. Her parents had tried to get her to open up, and she had a little, but so much of it had felt so personal that she hadn’t known how to process it...let alone explain it.

"I know you did what you did to save my dad, and everyone else. But I still would have given almost anything to have you back. And it never seemed to me that the world appreciated what you'd done for them. It never felt like you got the praise and admiration that you were due. So even if it was just my family, or even just my daughter, I wanted to make sure you were honoured for what you did, and who you were to me."

"Lila… Thank you," Nat manages, a few tears running tracks down her cheeks. "I- You and your brothers, and your parents...you were my family. And I-" she stops abruptly, gathering some composure in a rare show of overwhelming emotion. "Growing up...I never thought I'd have that. And then suddenly, somehow, I'm an aunt to these three amazing kids. And it hurt like hell to know that I wasn't ever gonna see you guys again, but I knew you needed your dad."

She pauses for a moment, her expression thoughtful.

"I spent my whole life searching for a purpose, and it wasn't until I was there on that cliff that I knew it was to save my family."

"It wasn't fair," Lila whispers, head shaking.

"Life never is," Nat replies softly, "but knowing I was saving you guys...I was at peace."

Lila shakes her head as she sniffles. "There was so much I wished I'd told you. I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen you, or even the last time that we'd talked. You were one of the most important people in my life and I came back and you were just...gone." The words feel bitter on her tongue, even all these decades later. "I should've told you I loved you more," she adds, remembering the overwhelming regret that had seized her in the moments after she'd been told about Nat's sacrifice.

"I knew, Lila,” she replies quickly, head tilted to the side and a sad smile on her lips that’s probably meant to be reassuring. “Of course I knew."

"I should have told you," Lila insists. "A few months after we came back, I spent some time combing through the files you released into the internet and I read your file.”

Nat is silent, but her expression clearly asks the question of _ why _ would she do that.

"And I know that wasn't everything, not by a long shot, but it made me sick to think you'd died not knowing how loved you were. You went through all of that shit growing up, and then everything as an agent and an Avenger… You deserved to know and to hear that you were loved. Because you were.”

“Are you _ trying _to make me cry?” Nat quips with a breathy laugh as she wipes away the tears under her eyes.

Lila smiles and takes a second to wipe her own tears before meeting her aunt’s gaze. “I love you, Aunt Nat," she says meaningfully, infusing as much love as she can manage into the words. Nat’s arms open up and Lila finds herself once again held tightly in a hug.

Once upon a time, Nat’s hugs had coaxed a young Lila out of her grumpiest moods, chased away monsters that lurked in the shadows, and provided a sense of safety and comfort. Now, held safely in her aunt’s arms once more, her eyes drift closed and she feels a weight lift from her soul.

She hears a soft sniffle and then quiet words, "I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions?
> 
> My ears are open. (Errrrr...I guess eyes are open? Haha)
> 
> More to come...


	21. Stupidity and Foolishness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nebula gets to know her new teammate, and finds out there may be more similarities between them than she thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because someone asked for Nebula. and because they really do have quite a bit in common.

“Did you get the intel from Romanoff?” Nebula asks as Rocket makes his way into the cockpit.

“I said I was going to, didn't I?"

"Just checking," she mutters.

"Despite what you might think, I'm not an idiot. I said I was gonna, so I did."

"Okay," she replies with a tightening of her jaw and a glare. Yes, she and Rocket had made some inroads to getting along. But the universe had irrevocably changed thanks to the actions of her father, and so she was falling back on the behaviours and defences that had kept her alive for years.

"It's uploaded," he confirms after placing the communicator the Avengers had given them into the ship's data scanner.

“I’ll get started on verifying the-”

“Actually,” he interrupts, “Romanoff did that already. From what I can see her work looks pretty solid.”

Nebula’s gaze narrows. “Are you actually _ trusting _ her?”

He shrugs. “I’m not saying we don’t look over it, I’m saying it’s not bad work for a human.”

She eyes him for a moment, uncertain as to why he’s choosing to trust her. _ No one _ is as distrusting as she is, but after a life of crime he had always been the next most cynical among them. It’s out of character for him to be accepting the help in the first place, let alone trusting that it’s been done correctly. And trusting a stupid human to do it...

“Don’t look at me like that,” he spits, clearly uncomfortable with the continued scrutiny. “Verify it, but I’m telling you - it looks like it checks out.”

She blows out a heavy, frustrated breath. “Well, it did come from Danvers originally. So I suppose it can’t be _ complete _stupidity,” she reasons.

“Whatever,” Rocket answers, beginning to flip switches and key in the coordinates. “Let’s go deal with this. I hate this stupid planet.”

“Yes, let’s,” she agrees readily, strapping herself in before beginning to tap away on the tablet with the information from Romanoff about their mission.

The ship lifts off the ground gently and she glances around the cockpit, an uncomfortable feeling settling in as she sees the empty chairs. She wouldn’t say she missed them per se, but she’d gotten used to having the idiots around. But Gamora...Gamora she _ did _ miss. Anger flares within her as she regrets being unable to exact her revenge on their father herself. His death had brought no satisfaction with it, and now she’s left with a feeling of inadequacy once again.

She shakes her head subtly to clear the thoughts and focus back on her task. Her fingers swipe through the information Romanoff had compiled after receiving the tip from Danvers. Begrudgingly she realizes that Rocket had been right. The work wasn’t awful. There were some swaths of information missing - but those were clearly areas she, as a human, would not have known or come across. Everything else was correct, and in some places actually helpful.

“I told you,” Rocket says smugly, glancing back at Nebula. “Ain’t bad work for a humie.”

“There’s still much information missing,” she argues.

“Oh, give it up. I know you were impressed by Stark’s intelligence and mechanical know-how while you two were stranded in space.”

“Romanoff is not Stark.”

“Good, your eyes are still working,” he retorts with a roll of his own eyes. “I’m just sayin’ she ain’t bad, as humans go.”

“Just fly the ship,” she replies brusquely, her attention dropping back to the tablet as she begins to fill in the missing pieces of information, pointedly ignoring Rockets assertions.

* * *

“You guys staying for a few days?” Romanoff asks glancing up from her desk as Nebula enters the room.

It's been nearly a year since they'd first met and they'd just returned the day before after a few long months traveling the galaxy and sorting out some of the chaos that had sprung up in the wake of her father's success at halving the universe's population.

“Yes,” Nebula answers and then pauses. “Rocket hasn’t recovered from his hangover yet,” she adds, an amused smile tugging at her lips but staying hidden.

Romanoff scrutinizes her for a fleeting moment, almost as though she can see the smile beneath the surface, before she arches an eyebrow in amusement. “I warned him to go slow, but he insisted human alcohol didn’t hold a candle to the stuff available out there.”

“He’s right, it doesn’t,” she answers succinctly. On the whole, human drinks were paltry in comparison to the vast majority available across the galaxy.

“Still knocked him on his ass.”

Nebula tilts her head. “That speaks more to Rocket than to the strength of the drink.”

Romanoff holds her gaze for a brief moment before breathing out a chuckle and shaking her head. “You're probably right. Need anything from us?”

“I have completed most of the necessary repairs. I believe Rocket wants to complete a few upgrades before we leave though. I don’t know what he needs, if anything.”

She nods as she leans back in her seat behind her desk, which is covered in books, tablets, mostly empty plates, and a variety of mugs and glasses. Rocket hadn’t lied when he said she was a bit slovenly. Clearly the failure to reverse the effects of the stones continues to weigh heavily on her.

Then again, the shadow of that failure looms over all of them...

“You can sit, you know,” she offers, startling Nebula out of her thoughts. "You don't need to stand the whole time."

“I know,” Nebula answers curtly.

“Okay,” Romanoff replies with a casual shrug. “How are things out there? Carol said she was hearing more reports of-”

“She informed us, too.”

“Right, of course,” she replies slowly before her gaze drops back down to her tablet.

“Why are you doing this?” Nebula asks suddenly. She’d wondered for many months now why Romanoff had inserted herself into the leadership role when she so clearly had fallen into a depression. To be fair, it appeared to be a _ functional _ depression since she was still being productive...

Romanoff looks up. “Doing what?”

“This,” Nebula answers with a wave of her hands. “Relaying the intel, arranging the holo-calls, leading the rest of your group. You don’t need to do it.”

“And you don’t need to be patrolling the galaxy with someone you once despised, but you are.”

Nebula bites off the angry retort that’s sitting on her tongue, because as much as she hates to admit it - Romanoff is right.

Romanoff takes her silence as a sign to continue. “No one knows what to do so they’re just doing what they can. You and me? We're in a position to impact things on a larger scale than most, so we're doing it."

"Liaising between groups and passing information is not the same as being out there and doing it," Nebula accuses. Romanoff's role in this operation is limited, even if she thinks of herself as their group's leader.

Romanoff scrutinizes her again and Nebula fights the urge to jump up and pin her against the wall, feeling her anger flare in her eyes. That this weakling human would dare to-

"No, it's not the same. But it's what I can do.

Nebula blinks in surprise at her agreement. _ She agrees? _

"It's _ all _ I can do," Romanoff adds after a beat.

Nebula finds she doesn't have anything to say to that, and stays silent.

"How did you end up with the Guardians anyway?"

"I wanted to kill my sister," she answers easily.

Nebula finds herself surprised when Romanoff lets out a quick chuckle. "You and I have some things in common it seems. I joined SHIELD and by extension the Avengers because I allowed Agent Barton to get close enough to try to kill me."

Nebula's anger flares once more at the assertion that this human could even begin to understand. "Don't presume to understand me. You haven't lived my life. You don't know what it's like to have grown up as the less favoured daughter of Thanos," Nebula bites back.

“I’m not saying I do. But you don’t know anything about me either. You’re not the only one to have grown up in a situation that was never going to allow you to be anything but what someone else wanted."

Nebula stares, mind whirring as she tries to suss out the meaning behind Romanoff's words. _ Why didn't I read those files on the Avengers more closely? _ she curses silently.

"They stole me away from my family when I was just a kid and raised me in a place where the sole purpose was to train killers. And I wasn’t alone there. They stole other girls from their families too. They told us we were sisters under Mother Russia and then turned around and had us fight each other. Sure, at first it was just for training purposes, but then suddenly the stakes were raised and those fights were to the death because we found out that chances were, only one of us was going to make it out of there alive. So in addition to the dozens of men and women I’ve killed over the years, I have the blood of my own _ sisters _ on my hands too. The blood of _ children _.”

Romanoff pauses for just a second to meet Nebula's gaze, something unreadable in her expression, before she continues.

"At first, when I was young, I wanted nothing more than to have my family back. And then, when they beat that out of me, I wanted a sister, or a friend.” She pauses for a beat, gaze drifting away. “I wanted to have someone _ love me _. But they took that away too, thanks to a combination of drugs, brainwashing sessions, and some good old-fashioned torture.

“So no, I don’t know what it’s like to be Thanos’ daughter," she says, gaze once again meeting Nebula's and holding it meaningfully. "But I _ do _ know what it’s like to want for nothing more than a sister. To want to be a _ person _ rather than the weapon that someone else made. To hate yourself but be unable to do anything but survive. To want a _ life _ rather than just years that you’ve lived.”

Nebula blinks as Romanoff's words roll around her mind. She had known a few facts about the so called Black Widow from the files Rocket acquired for them to learn about their new associates, but she had no idea how dark a past she was hiding. A quick glance at her expression tells Nebula that, like her, Romanoff doesn't share about herself all that often, and that in her haste to explain she'd overplayed her hand. She seriously doubted someone trained from childhood would make such a mistake, unless hampered by emotions - which given the state of depression seemed to indicate just that had happened.

_ Or maybe it was a conscious decision _she muses.

"How did you go from that to fighting with the Avengers? Wouldn't you have been an enemy of theirs?"

"I was a part of the group that formed them, and had already been with SHIELD for awhile then."

Nebula fights the urge to roll her eyes and groan at the obvious sidestep. "Well how did you go from a killer to fighting...what is it you humans call it...the good fight?" she presses.

"How did you go switch from doing Thanos' bidding to joining the Guardians?" Romanoff volleys back.

"It is not the same,” she huffs.

"Isn't it? We each had someone with enough of a reason to sway us. For me, it was the man who became my best friend. For you, your sister."

"The situations are different."

"Of course they are. But you can't deny there are similarities."

"How did you escape the Red Room?" she asks, ignoring the assertion that they’re similar.

"I did their bidding for a long time, but the more freedom they gave me, the more I began to fight against the conditioning. Eventually I got out, but they got me back and layered on some more conditioning. I began to break it again some time later and started to try and work by my own moral code. I was still doing their bidding, but I never killed kids, and tried to avoid the hits that would've left behind kids. But I was tired. Tired of not being free and being unable to shake off the rest of the shit they put in my head.

"My actions got the attention of agencies across the world. The CIA, MI6, Interpol...pick any country and I guarantee they were trying to eliminate me. SHIELD sent Agent Barton to kill me, and when I finally let him catch up to me, I was so tired that I wanted him to kill me, because I couldn't do it myself. But he wouldn't, and he went against his orders and brought me in instead. He was kind, and he offered me a chance to find out who I was as a person, and to work at clearing off some of the red in my ledger.

"They spent months digging out the triggers and conditioning in my mind, and to this day I know there are probably still some in there. But I felt better doing good. I felt better working for people who wouldn't ask me to use my body to get close to a target. I felt better working for people who didn't punish the smallest of mistakes with threats of torture or _ actual _ torture. I felt better working for people who were trying to _ protect _ people.”

She pauses to let out a heavy exhale before continuing.

"And I got so much more than just a job. I got a family, I got friends, I got a home…"

"But you lost all that because of my father," Nebula points out, beginning to better understand where the root of her apparent depression stemmed from. Having lost her own sister, she can understand the swirl of rage and sadness.

"Some, yes. But I think we can fix this."

Nebula scoffs. "You still believe that? It's been nearly a year and we don't have any new leads."

"I have to believe it. Because if I don't… If he gets to win… Then everything…all of this was for nothing." She goes quiet, and the words hang heavy in the air with a weight of responsibility. "Besides, I spent too many years letting the assholes win. It's high time we stop that trend."

"Stupidity and foolishness seem to be common among humans," she comments, because the response reminds her of Quill.

Romanoff laughs. "Yes, I suppose they are. We're certainly not generally revered for our cool use of logic. Most of us tend to let our hearts lead us."

Nebula's gaze narrows. "You say that like you don’t do that."

"I didn't used to,” she admits. “They trained emotion out of us. It took me a long time to learn it again...to learn how to feel things about people and situations."

Nebula’s eyes widen slightly. "You think it's a good thing?"

"Oh, don't get me wrong. Ask any of these guys and they'll tell you I'm the most logical and emotionless of the bunch. And they'd be right. I can still slip my mask of the Widow on and turn the emotions off. But I think I've found a balance. Or, at least I had before all this shit happened."

"And now?"

She pauses. "Now half my friends are dust and the world doesn't make sense anymore. Now I don't know who I am or what I'm doing. But I do know that we can't give up. We owe it to them to keep trying."

Nebula scrutinizes her for a moment, letting the words linger in the air once more. She can see the pain and grief in Romanoff’s eyes and knows that she isn’t lying. It’s unsettling, but Nebula thinks that she might be the one person who could _ possibly _ understand what it is to lose yourself before you even have yourself to begin with. To understand what it’s like to be left holding responsibilities you didn’t want but can’t give up. To understand what it’s like being moulded into a weapon, even if that weapon is so vastly inferior to herself.

She thinks that _ maybe _ , out of all the people she’s met in the aftermath of her father’s actions, Natasha Romanoff might be able to understand _ some _of her pain.

She finds Romanoff’s gaze and holds it unwaveringly. “Then we keep trying,” she says with a curt nod and walks away briskly, headed back to the ship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? feelings? suggestions? do let me know.


	22. Hazard of My Upbringing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony meets up with Natasha on a beach and pushes her to talk about things left behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because while I've never been overly fond of Tony's character, he seems to be the one that keeps popping up in my spurts of inspiration for these conversations...
> 
> enjoy.

Tony spots Natasha immediately, since she's the lone figure on the beach. He watches for a moment, letting the moment soak in because it doesn't seem real to him. Even when she wasn't busy with the Avengers or off doing Fury's dirty work for SHIELD (before it went down into the Potomac that is), she'd had this air of readiness about her. Like a spring tightly coiled and ready to explode at a moment's notice. Probably a result of how she was raised.  _ Trained _ he corrects himself, because her childhood (if you could even call it that) wasn't the sort of thing you casually referred to as how she was "raised". 

In fact, he's not sure he's ever seen her well and truly relaxed; even in death she's been a bit tightly wound. Not that he judges, because  _ he's _ still unpacking and dealing with a lot of the trauma from his own life and he knows that she had already amassed a few suitcases' worth of her own trauma when they met. And that doesn't include the shit they'd experienced in the years since as members of the Avengers.

Right now though, she's clad in a black bikini that would have made the pre-Avengers Tony Stark drool, lounging in a beach chair that's reclined almost fully. And while he's a bit too far away to be able to really try and read her expression, even at this distance he can tell the usual air of tension around her isn't there.  _ It’s about damn time _ he thinks to himself as he feels a smile spread across his face at the sight, because she damn well deserves to be at peace after the shit she'd gone through in her life and what she'd given up in her final act.

He had taken to life in death quickly enough, aided by the balm of being reunited with his parents, aunts and uncles, and friends he'd lost, but Nat hadn’t quite had the same experience. Sure, Phil Coulson had been there to guide her and Tony himself had joined her not long later, but ultimately most everyone else Natasha considered important to her she had left behind. She hides it well, but he’s spent enough time with her over the years and had seen just enough of her in _ those _ five years to be able to read through her mask and know she’s hurting.

They’ve shared more than a few conversations since they had reunited in the afterlife, most of which had centred on their exploration of their new home. On a handful of occasions they had talked about the people and things they’d left behind. He’d told her about the battle after they brought everyone back, and she’d filled him in on what had gone down on Vormir - though he knows there’s a lot more to it than what she had told him. He told her stories about Pepper and Morgan, and she shared memories about their teammates from over the years.

Still though, with everything they shared, he got the distinct sense that she was leaving her feelings packed away for the most part. His own emotional walls and general unwillingness to tackle the hard conversations had faded, and it wasn’t all that unusual for him to  _ want _ to have those hard conversations now. At first he thought maybe it was just some weird thing about the afterlife that impacted everyone, but when he saw Nat still holding everything back he knew that wasn’t the case.

He’s seen flashes of the old Natasha - teasing, snarky comments and little smirks here and there - but she’s been a touch melancholy the last little while. He supposes she’s still struggling with the weight of everything she left behind. He and Phil have been trying to make her believe what they already knew - that she’s a good person...a hero even, but despite their efforts she never seemed to fully accept or agree.

Here though, lying under the warm sun with a gentle ocean breeze blowing in, she looks completely at peace. He spots the nearby bar and a grin spreads as a plan quickly forms. Finding the exact ingredients he needs (and man oh man, that was a nice perk of the afterlife - always having the things you need without having to ask), he mixes a couple drinks before heading over to join her.

"Hiya, Charlotte," he quips as he settles into the chair next to hers.

Her eyes open slowly and her head tips to the side as an eyebrow arches in a silent question.

"C'mon...Charlotte's Web? Tell me you've read Charlotte's Web."

"Oddly enough, they didn't have it around when I was growing up," she retorts drily.

He gasps theatrically. "A travesty, I assure you."

"One of those for me?" she asks, ignoring his dramatics and flicking her gaze to the frilly, beachy drinks in his hands.

"Yeah," he answers, handing a glass over. "Figured you might need some refreshments. It's important to hydrate you know."

She takes a sip and tilts her head, considering the taste. "Not bad," she says before taking another sip and then putting the glass down on the small table between the chairs. "Thanks."

"De nada," he answers lazily and then he grins because he knows exactly how she's going to react. And sure enough, just as he'd thought, she grimaces. "What? You don't have the monopoly on speaking multiple languages."

"You know, one of the perks of dying was supposed to be peace."

It takes him a beat to realize that she's teasing him, and not admitting something to him. "Oh, c'mon, Red. You know you love me."

"Debatable," she retorts with a wink before picking up the glass for another sip.

"Well, that's an improvement over the looks of derision you probably shot my way in those early days. To be fair though, almost everyone hated me at some point. I'm told I can be insufferable," he finishes with a grin.

"I never hated you, Tony," she replies, her answer far more genuine than he'd expected. "You were always over the top, most of the stuff you did was absurd and completely stupid, and you were unbearably narcissistic, yes, but I never hated you."

He holds her gaze for a moment, searching for something he can't name in her expression. "Well I never hated you either," he replies pointedly. "Even if you were spectacularly excellent at the whole spy game thing," he adds, a bit cheekily.

"Hazard of my upbringing," she quips.

"Or perk," he counters, because as much as he knew she hated what had been done to her, she'd never been the type to hang on regrets. Not until Thanos that is.

She apparently doesn't feel the need to respond and instead takes another, larger sip before reclining her chair the rest of the way down and turning over to lie on her stomach. He blinks to try and process the sight, because a sun-bathing Natasha Romanoff was not something he ever expected of her.

His gaze drifts to the horizon as silence ensues, with just the lull of the ocean lapping at the shore filling the space around them. But he has never done well with silence, and so almost as quickly as it had settled in, he breaks it.

"So I've been thinking," he says before taking a drink and then letting his head loll to the side to look at her.

"Do you ever  _ stop _ thinking?" she remarks drily, eyes staying closed, as though she hasn't deemed the conversation worthy of her full attention just yet. 

"First of all, no, and you know that," he begins. "Second of all, I'm trying to have a genuine moment with you, and you're ruining it."

"Wouldn't be me if I didn't ruin your fun."

"See, but you don't have to. We're different people than we were on Earth."

"Yes, dying will do that to you," she deadpans.

"Nat," he whines, "c'mon."

She breathes out a deliberate exhale. "Fine. What were you thinking about?"

He knows broaching the topic of their former lives is a sharp turn considering their light banter, but he still wants to delve into it. He just hopes it doesn't spoil her apparently excellent mood.

"How lucky we both are to have had our deaths be so goddamn hard," he says, knowing she'll read the hesitancy in his tone and understand that he's trying to be gentle.

Now her eyes open and she regards him with a searching, but not angry expression. "Come again?"

"We had people that we loved. People worth dying for. It made leaving them behind hard, yeah, but meant that our lives were worth it, you know?"

"Yeah, I guess," she answers casually. It's quiet for a beat, and then she surprises him. "I ever tell you that when I first met Clint, I wanted him to kill me?"

"I- What?" he stutters, shocked by her blasé delivery of such a terrifying fact. He figures it's connected somehow to their fledgling discussion about their sacrifices but he hasn't connected the dots fully just yet.

"I'd broken through some of my conditioning and I wanted out because I was so, so tired. But I couldn't kill myself because it went against the very base-level programming they had put in me, and  _ that  _ I couldn’t break on my own. So instead I engineered a situation where I could let someone else do it for me."

Even though he should be used to her blunt answers and explanations, he's still shocked into silence by her words. "I...I didn't know."

"Well, it's not something I told people. Not even Fury knew how Clint caught up to me. He didn't question it."

"Wait. Why  _ didn't _ Barton kill you?"

She smiles now, a genuinely fond one. "Said he saw something in my eyes he recognized."

Tony blinks in surprise. He's not sure what he expected her answer to be, but that was definitely not it. He’d always known the two of them were close, and he’d known that Barton had been the one to bring her into SHIELD, but he had no idea about the depth of their history. "I honestly don't know what to say to that."

She chuckles. "That's a first."

"I just...that seems wildly unsafe and ill-advised," he says, head shaking in disbelief. "I mean, no offense, but you  _ were _ basically the world's most deadly assassin at that point, right?"

"Clint might've argued a few rounds with you to make a case for himself holding the title, but yes."

"And Barton’s not a stupid guy, but he just...waltzed in and said 'Nah, you know what? I'm not gonna kill you'?"

She smiles fondly again. "Basically, yeah."

"O...kay. How come none of that was in your file?"

She smirks now. "Because they didn't write down most of my file. It was safer for me and for them that way."

"You know, sometimes I forget how utterly dangerous you were. Like, I knew you were  _ lethal  _ because I’d seen you handle your batons, not to mention the scary accuracy with knives and bullets. But I forgot you could probably kill a man with nothing but a library book.”

"Haven't lost my touch then."

"Wait... _ have _ you killed someone with a book?"

"Long before John Wick did," she answers.

He blinks and a laundry list of random objects begins to form in his mind because he's curious what she can make into a weapon. "What about a pen? A regular one that is."

She nods.

"Spoon?"

Another nod.

"Oh my god. This is… What's the weirdest item you've used?"

She thinks for a moment. "Probably a teddy bear."

"A teddy bear?!"

"Yup."

"How?” he asks, and then immediately regrets it. “Wait! I don't want to know. I gave Morgan a teddy bear. This would ruin that for me."

She just smiles.

"Well," he says, steering them back on topic, "I'm glad Barton made the call he did."

"I'm touched, Tony," she quips. “Really.”

"I'm serious, Nat," he insists. "I know how we met was less than ideal-"

She scoffs playfully. "Don't lie. I saw your expression when I got into the ring. Nothing about that was less than ideal for you," she teases.

He rolls his eyes. "Well, yeah, but you were  _ trying _ to entice me. And then you took down Happy like it was nothing…”

"Lucky for both of us you were already a goner for Pepper. Believe me, I was not looking forward to-"

"Nope," he interrupts. "We're not going there. Knowing that death by teddy bear is a real thing that's happened is enough trauma for me today. Let's just both be glad things between us didn't have to go beyond my initial ogling."

"You weren't  _ really _ going to sleep with me," she says confidently.

His mouth drops open, because while he'll talk with her about a lot of things, this one seems like it should stay unsaid. "What’d I just say? I say 'we're not going there' and then what do you do? You go right there. Boundaries, Red. Boundaries."

She shrugs as she turns onto her side to face him, head propped up on her hand. "It was obvious you loved Pepper. You wanted me around because it was your impulse and I was a pretty, shiny, new thing. You were never going to sleep with me, despite what your lizard brain was trying to convince you."

"My lizard brain?"

"Well I could've gone with your dick, but lizard brain seemed more polite."

"I'll give you that," he says with a laugh. "But you have very skillfully directed the conversation away from my point."

A smile curls on her lips. "Hazard of my upbringing."

He ignores her quip. "I'm glad we met though. I'm glad you stabbed me in the neck, and took out Hammer's guys at the facility, not to mention hacking back into Rhodey's suit..."

"Tony-"

"And God, that doesn't even get us to the Avengers. Without you, Phil, Fury, and Hill woulda been cleaning us guys off the floor after having killed each other because we couldn't put our egos aside. And of course you-"

"I get it," she interrupts softly.

"I don't think you do," he argues.

She shakes her head. "You give me too much credit."

"I don't give you enough credit," he corrects. "I'm telling you, when we came back onto that platform and you weren't there, we were wrecked. We were lost. We had everything we needed to undo what the purple asshole did, but we couldn't bring ourselves to do  _ anything _ ."

"Tony-" she tries again.

"You were important, Nat. I don't know if you've accepted that yet, but you were  **really fucking important** to us, okay? And to a lot of other people too. The world needed Natasha Romanoff, and they were damn lucky to have you. Sure, they didn't appreciate you nearly as much as they should have then...but now? Nat, now they're celebrating you. And rightfully calling you a hero."

She sighs heavily. He can tell it's out of discomfort, and he represses the urge to groan out loud in frustration.

"Look,” he says pointedly as he removes his sunglasses to meet her gaze properly, “the sooner you accept it, the sooner I'll stop badgering the point."

She’s quiet for a moment, just holding his gaze. There’s something in her eyes that he can’t quite identify, but it almost looks like she’s starting to accept his words. "I'm working on it," she answers finally.

"Good,” he says with a nod. “But, Nat? Maybe work on that a bit faster, because you deserve to know it in your bones."

"It's not as easy as-"

"I know, I know. I'm just saying you deserve to have some peace, and I know this is something that's niggling at you.”

She smiles warmly in reply. "You really can be quite sweet sometimes," she says, a callback to their first conversation in the afterlife.

"Oh ye, of little faith," he says, sliding his sunglasses back on and tipping his head back to lean against the headrest once more.

"No, me of experience with your foot-in-mouth stupidity," she corrects with a knowing smile.

"Yeah, okay. You might have a point there,” he says, pointing a finger at her. “But I'm a changed man."

"No, you still stick your foot in your mouth. Often."

"Part of why you love me."

"I thought we established that was a debatable fact."

"You wound me, Itsy Bitsy."

"Your ego can take it, Shell Head, considering it's the size of Texas."

"Just Texas?"

"You're right. Probably closer to North America as a whole."

They both laugh and then let the sound of the crashing waves fill the void that follows.

"I've been thinking," he starts again after a moment, turning his head to watch her reaction.

"Oh boy. Again?" she says, turning to face him. “Haven’t we covered enough heavy material today?” she asks.

He’s undaunted. Maybe it’s selfish to push on given she’d been in a good mood before he joined her, but he can’t help it. "I never apologized for abandoning you after Thanos."

She sighs ever so lightly as she shakes her head. "You don't owe me an apology, Tony."

"Yeah, I do. Because we all left the world in a lurch after losing, and I got back from space and just left."

"You'd earned the right to step away," she counters.

"So had you, but you stayed."

"The difference is I  _ couldn't _ step away."

"I knew you were alone in the Compound though. I found out Cap had left, and knew Bruce was in the lab, and that Rhodey was off doing his government stuff most of the time. I knew you were all alone there and I didn't do a damn thing."

"That's not true,” she counters with a frown. “You offered me an olive branch after Morgan was born. I turned you down."

His mind brings forward the memory of her holding a newborn Morgan, rocking her gently with an expert's hand that had completely surprised him. "Why  _ did _ you turn me down?"

She's contemplative for a moment before answering. "I don't know."

"Bullshit," he accuses, because while he’s mindful of not totally spoiling her mood, he's not letting her get away with such an obvious lie.

"I wanted you to have your family. You'd earned that right for peace and quiet. And just because  **I ** couldn't let my failure go-"

" _ Our  _ failure," he corrects. "That weight never sat on just your shoulders."

"Regardless," she dismisses with a wave of her hand, "I was a link to the life you'd left behind."

His expression falls. "Nat…"

She smiles gently. "It's okay, Tony. It really is. I just wish you'd gotten more time with them.” She hesitates for a moment and then adds, “No one else was supposed to be here with me."

He shakes his head. "Nat… God, that's not- You-” He blows out a breath quickly. “You were part of my family too. I know we were on somewhat shaky ground then, but that didn't mean you weren't important to me. Hell, I told Morgan bedtime stories about her Aunt Tasha. In fact, I wished she'd had  _ more  _ time with you, because you’re strong, and smart, and don’t take bullshit from anybody, but you’re also incredibly kind and compassionate to your friends and family. And that's  _ exactly _ the kind of person I want her to grow up to be."

Nat purses her lips, and he thinks that maybe his words have cracked her seemingly impenetrable shell. He'd thought she would argue that Morgan had Pepper to look up to as a role model, and she'd have been right, of course. But Natasha had been those things in a completely different world than Pepper. And besides, it wouldn't have been a bad thing for Morgan to have more than one strong woman to look up to.

"You deserved better from me," he insists.

She shakes her head. "Don't apologize for putting them first. You didn't owe me anything. You  _ don’t _ owe me anything."

"You were the one left holding the bag."

"I couldn't move on. There's a difference."

He sighs. "I thought about it sometimes.” Her brow furrows in a silent question. “About you and how you were there, still chasing down every little scrap of a lead you could find on how to fix things. How you didn't move on. Those were the days I would spend hours in my workshop and lose myself in dumb ideas and upgrades to suits I'd sworn to never use again. I think Pepper knew why...she could always read me, you know? I think she understood I  _ needed _ to mend our friendship. It's why she let me come along to that meeting about starting the foundation for the kids. It's why she always  _ happened _ to get updates from her staff about it when I was around."

"Tony…"

"You deserved better from me, Nat. You were the one who kept it all together. You held  **all** our burdens of responsibility for five years while I fucked off and selfishly lived my life in peace. God, and the Accords? You were trying to keep the team together, and the only place it got you was stuck between a goddamn rock and a hard place. Back on the run, being chased by the governments of the nations you'd been protecting… I know you didn't want that, and you sure as hell didn't deserve it. And you didn't deserve to be shunned by me after Thanos. It wasn't your fault we lost."

She shakes her head. "Tony, stop. You're twisted up in some sort of guilt where there doesn't need to be any. I don't hold it against you. Any of it."

It’s his turn to counter this time. "You should.”

"Well, I don't,” she huffs out in reply. “So don't let this fester in your mind. We're dead, and we've buried any hatchets that might've been in play. No point holding grudges or feeling guilty about things we can't change."

He blows out a breath. "I really hate how mature you are sometimes."

She grins slowly. "Only sometimes?"

"Don't start what you can't finish, Widow."

She laughs. "That just tells me I've already won, Tin Man."

"Oh, it's so on."

Her eyes twinkle with mischief. "On like Donkey Kong?"

He can't help the snort. Yeah, they both had a long way to go to come to terms with everything. But they had each other, and they'd be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hopefully that wasn't another tear-jerker! trying to balance a bit of humour and banter in there with the heavier stuff...
> 
> thoughts? comments? suggestions for future conversations? let me know... :)


	23. You Broke It On Purpose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pepper pays Nat a visit in the afterlife, and they get a surprise visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because I enjoy the thought of Pepper and Nat sitting down over drinks (alcoholic or otherwise) and commiserating over the men in their lives. 
> 
> enjoy.

“C’mon, Pep, hurry up!”

“You know I can’t walk any faster in these heels.”

“Why are you wearing heels?” Tony asks as he stops abruptly and turns around to face her, an expression of confusion on his face. “This is the place of eternal rest. Nothing about heels screams ‘rest’ to me.”

Pepper arches an eyebrow. “I happen to like these shoes,” she argues. They’d been her favourite pair while she was alive and she’d been happier than she would ever admit out loud that they had somehow followed her to the afterlife.

“Yes, dear, but are they comfortable?”

Pepper resists the urge to grind her teeth in frustration, because _ of course _ he’s just a little bit right. Favourite shoes or not, they were not designed for lengthy walks. When she doesn’t answer he opens his mouth to no doubt to insert another comment of some kind, but she beats him to the punch. “Don’t,” she warns. “Just don’t.”

He flashes a slightly lopsided grin. “Don’t what? I was just going to point out that we need to turn here. It’s just a few houses down that way," he says, pointing down the street.

She levels him with a narrowed gaze she _ knows _he recognizes as her calling bullshit on him. He just grins wider in that oh-so-Tony-Stark way and gives a dramatic ‘after you’ bow. They make it all the way to the front door of the house in silence before he can’t resist any longer.

“I’m just saying, you don’t have a board room full of guys in power suits that’re compensating for little you-know-whats that you need to impress anymore,” he says before knocking a few times. “You can wear some casual shoes and literally no one is gonna judge you.”

She arches an eyebrow knowingly. “Glad you got that off your chest?”

“Yes, actually, thanks,” he replies cheekily and then tries to unsuccessfully dodge her swat.

“Ow! Jeez, have some respect for-”

Before things can escalate any further the door swings open and Pepper’s eyes swing around quickly to find Natasha standing in the doorway. She looks well rested for perhaps the first time that Pepper’s ever seen, and Nat appears significantly less stressed and worn down than the last time she’d seen her. Granted, that had been in the aftermath of Thanos’ actions and when Nat was basically shouldering the entire effort to find a solution, but still...it was good to see the redhead’s time in the place of eternal rest had apparently brought some rest.

There's a flash of surprise in Nat's expression but then a grin spreads across her face quickly. “Hey, Pepper. Is this guy harassing you again?”

“Endlessly,” Pepper says stepping forward into Nat's opened arms. “It’s really good to see you, Natasha."

“Likewise,” Nat says as they break apart. Tony opens up his arms for a hug and Pepper laughs when Natasha leaves him out to dry, instead wordlessly gesturing for her to enter the house.

“You cut me deep, Itsy Bitsy.”

“Can’t,” she quips as she looks back over her shoulder at him, “they took my knives away on entry.”

“Like you need actual knives,” he murmurs, stepping into the foyer and closing the door behind him.

Pepper’s gaze drifts around the house, which is warm, inviting, and tastefully decorated. She spots some comfortable looking leather couches and an over-sized leather chair arranged in front of a modern style fireplace in a room just off of the foyer, and Pepper can just imagine Nat curled up there, reading a book or watching TV. There’s pictures of friends and family on a shelf above the fireplace and on the end tables next to the couches, showcasing various points throughout Nat’s life. Pepper’s a bit surprised to spot one of herself, Natasha, and Morgan at the lake house - Morgan’s third birthday, if she remembers correctly.

She would never claim that she and Natasha had been exceptionally close...but they’d been friends. Nat’s status as an Avenger meant that she and Tony naturally spent more time together and were closer, yes, but they had still been friends. Hearing from Tony that she’d died had hurt - more than Pepper had expected.

Pepper’s time as Tony’s PA had meant her existing friendships withered away fairly early on. It hadn’t surprised Pepper that she lost friends - being at Tony Stark’s beck and call 24/7 and having to clean up his messes tended to wreak havoc on a person’s life after all. Of course when she became CEO everyone suddenly wanted to be her friend again. But it was always at a cost because they all wanted something from her - access to Tony, something from the company, or to exploit a link to a celebrity.

Nat had never cared about gaining access to influence the company though, and certainly had no desire to try and cash in on Tony’s celebrity status, and so in a time when everyone had an underlying agenda, Pepper appreciated the genuineness of Natasha’s friendship. They’d shared drinks many times over the years to commiserate about Tony’s antics and the widespread testosterone they both had to deal with on a regular basis. Not to mention she’d been an invaluable source of strength and support while Tony was adrift in space, and she’d been over to the house more than a few times over _ those _ five years once Tony got over his grudge.

“Be nice, Tony. I made pelmeni.” Nat’s voice startles Pepper out of her thoughts and she refocuses on the scene in front of her.

“Don’t joke with me about that, Red,” Tony fires back quickly with wide, hopeful eyes.

She holds a hand to her heart. “You know I don’t joke about Russian cuisine.”

“Are they warm?” he asks, excitement clear in his tone. Pepper is left confused by his reaction because as far as she knew he had never been particularly excited about anything culinary in nature beyond an American cheeseburger, and certainly not about Russian cuisine.

Natasha nods and gestures vaguely to the kitchen. “Go ahead, but leave some for the rest of us.”

He grins and then immediately begins to head toward the back of the house. He makes it three steps before he turns and looks apologetically at Pepper. “Uh, sorry, Pep. You good to…” he trails off.

Pepper shakes her head lightly and lets out a huff of amusement. Typical Tony. “I’m fine, go ahead.”

“Sweet!” he says as he turns on his heel and heads to the back of the house...presumably where the kitchen is located.

“I apologize for his manners,” Pepper says, turning to face Natasha.

Nat waves it off. “I’m used to it. Besides, he’s been pretty good company,” she says with a casual shrug before gesturing to the couches in the room adjacent to the front door. “Please, let’s sit.”

“Thanks,” Pepper says with a polite smile, letting her gaze drift around the room again. The house is a mix of old and new - with modern finishes and styles worked into what’s obviously an older house...maybe even historical. The thought of _ Can things even be historical here? _pops into her head for a fleeting moment before she dismisses it in favour of appreciating the style. For reasons she can’t quite place it feels like a true reflection of Natasha.

“Can I get you a drink?”

Natasha’s words startle her out of her examination and she blushes lightly at being caught. “Oh, yes. That would be great.”

“Martini still your preferred poison? Or I have some wine if you prefer.”

“Whatever’s easiest,” she answers diplomatically before reaching a hand down to massage her foot. It pained her to admit it, but Tony really had been right. Heels, while beautiful and excellent at providing confidence, were not terribly comfortable. Not to mention he had very much downplayed the distance to Natasha’s house, meaning her feet _ were _a bit sore.

“Feel free to take those off,” Natasha throws out without turning around as she mixes their drinks. “We’re old friends, and your husband regularly raids my fridge for food now. I think that’s enough familiarity to dispense with formalities about shoes.”

Pepper’s expression is caught between embarrassment at being caught and intrigue at learning that Nat can cook (and that Tony _ regularly _ steals her food!). She eventually admits defeat and slips off her heels, tucking her feet underneath her legs as she curls up on an end of one of the couches.

“Vodka martini dry, right?” Natasha says, holding out a glass to her.

“Yeah,” Pepper says in surprise before almost instantly realizing she shouldn’t be surprised at all since Natasha had been her assistant once upon a time. _ And a very good one, at that, _she thinks. “Thanks.”

“Sure,” Natasha says with a dismissive wave as she curls up on the other corner of the couch, a glass tumbler with clear liquid in it in her hand. _ Vodka, _ Pepper guesses. “So, how are you?”

“Adjusting,” she answers simply. _ Understatement _ she thinks immediately after the words have left her mouth.

“Understandably,” Nat offers before taking a sip of her drink. “Tony give you the grand tour?”

Pepper snorts. “You mean his favourite cheeseburger place and his lab? Yep.”

Nat chuckles. “Some things even death doesn’t change.”

“Apparently,” she replies. “Seems like you’ve settled in here. Your house is gorgeous.”

“Thanks. You’d never be able to tell but it was a complete mess when I moved in. I think this place knew I needed a project back then. Something to focus my energy on.”

“The place knew?”

“You’ll see - it’s like anything you could want or need just somehow manages to appear or happen,” Nat answers with a shrug. “I was never religious, so I never believed in an afterlife of any kind, but I jumped off a cliff and woke up here. So either I miraculously survived and my mind is working some serious overtime to concoct a fantasy world for me to live in, or this is really the afterlife. I’m inclined to think it’s the latter.”

Pepper takes a sip before asking, “Why?”

Nat takes a drink of her own before answering. “Magic stones that could end and bring back half of all living creatures, aliens from distant planets, humans with abilities beyond what science can explain… I never imagined they would be things that could be real and yet they were. Who am I to say the afterlife isn’t real?”

“Fair enough. In that case, to eternal rest,” Pepper offers as she holds up her glass in a toast.

Just as Natasha opens her mouth to echo the toast, there’s a loud yell from the kitchen, “Nat, these are amazing! Like, better than usual, I mean."

Pepper shakes her head and can’t help the laugh that slips out. _ Plus ça change... _

"Hey...did this display break _ again _?! You want me to take a look at it?" There’s a beat of silence but before Nat could even begin to possibly answer he continues. "You know what? I'm gonna sort this out for you. There's some serious room for upgrades here and I think I’ve got a real fix for it. Just gotta grab my tools. I'll be back."

"He forgot I'm here, didn't he?" Pepper asks in amusement after they hear the back door slam shut.

"Probably," Natasha agrees with a knowing smile. "I wouldn’t hold it against him though. You spend a long time learning how to live here without the people from your life, and then suddenly they’re with you again. It’s an adjustment for sure.”

Pepper nods understandingly. She _ had _ only appeared a few days ago, so it wasn't inconceivable that he was still getting used to having her around again. _ Wait...was it days? _ she wonders. _ Time doesn’t seem to flow the same as it did on earth... _

“In any case, at least we'll have some peace and quiet for a bit. Should take him at least a couple hours to fix it," Nat adds.

Pepper notices a twinkle of mischief in her eyes and then realization sets in. "You broke it on purpose didn't you?"

Nat can't help the smile from curling on her lips. "I like to challenge him now and then," she explains. "I don't actually use that display all that much. I just throw some junked code in there for him to try and find, and break some circuits now and then. He's convinced there's something inherently wrong with it. Beyond the stuff I break that is."

Pepper laughs. "He has no idea?"

"Not that I'm aware. Why not, I have no idea, because everything else here works perfectly. But I’m not looking a gift horse in the mouth."

Pepper shakes her head in amusement. People always used to tell her she was the only person who knew how to handle Tony, but she knew better. She'd seen the little moments between Nat and him that betrayed how well she knew him. Nat was an expert in guiding him to the things he needed without having to outright tell him.

"You always did know how to manipulate him."

Natasha smiles. "He's not all that complicated. He just needs something to fix. And if he doesn't have that, he needs something to tinker with."

"Very true," Pepper agrees, taking another sip of her drink. She’d spent the better part of her life trying to get him to rest, only to realize that it just wasn’t for him.

"So, how are you finding life after death?"

Pepper can't help the minute shake of her head. Natasha was just so droll about it. As though dying and waking up in heaven wasn’t such a monumental event. "It's not all that different...or at least not that I can tell. Tony's shown me a few places, but we haven't really ventured far."

"Well you're not wrong. It is very much the same. Though there are a few spots that do make it feel a little less earthy and a little more...heavenly, I suppose the best word would be."

"Is that what this is? Heaven?"

Natasha shrugs. "No idea. But it's not eternal damnation, so I'm happy with it."

Pepper considers the response, and wonders if Nat really thinks so little of herself even after sacrificing her life to bring everybody back.

Natasha seems to sense Pepper’s slight uncertainty. "Sorry," she apologizes. "Force of habit. Your husband has done his level best to get rid of that notion in my head."

"Did he succeed?"

Nat takes a sip of her drink before she answers. "Well, he doesn't tend to fail a whole lot once he puts his mind to something, so…"

"Good,” Pepper says succinctly. She licks her lips as she ponders the question she really wants to ask. “How’s he been?”

Nat smiles. “Good. He took to life here a lot more smoothly than I did. He patched things up with his dad and he spends time with him and his mom now. He visits with Yinsen and Peggy pretty regularly. Steve too.” She pauses to take another sip of her drink before continuing. “He’s missed you and Morgan of course, but he’s been good otherwise.”

Pepper lets out a breath she hadn’t realized that she’d been holding. Some part of her had worried he wouldn’t find any semblance of rest, even though he very much deserved it.

“He’s been a good friend,” she adds with a soft, fleeting smile. “I hate that he had to be here with me so soon, but…it’s been really nice having him here.”

Pepper nods and smiles gently. Before Natasha’s funeral she’d asked Steve and Bruce if there was any family they should be calling. They’d informed her that Nat’s family had been the Bartons and the Avengers. Given what she had known about Natasha’s past it hadn’t been altogether surprising at the time. Thinking about it now though, Pepper realizes that without Tony joining her so soon Natasha may have been mostly alone here for years.

There’s a knock at the door before the conversation can progress any further. “Tony back already?” Pepper asks.

“Nah, he doesn’t usually knock when he’s coming back with his tools,” Nat answers as she gets up to answer the door.

She opens it to find Laura Barton on the other side. “Hey, Nat.”

Nat’s smile spreads easily. “Hey, Laura. Come on in.”

“Oh, sorry!” Laura says as she spots Pepper on the couch. “I didn’t realize-”

“Please, join us,” Pepper calls from the couch. “Nat was just catching me up on everything here. Tony’s not the best tour guide, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

Laura chuckles. “Well, if you’re sure you don’t mind.”

“We don’t,” Nat confirms, leaving the front door open and wandering back into the room. "Oh," she says, a thought occurring to her mid-step. "Hang on, have you two met?"

Pepper nods but Laura is the one to step in and explain. "Yes, at your funeral actually."

Nat blinks as she processes the words and then nods, directing the conversation deftly away from the potentially mood dampening topic. "Okay, so no introductions needed," she says casually.

Pepper is shocked by how at ease she is with the explanation. But then again…she'd been dead for decades. Maybe these were things she'd long since come to terms with.

"What’re you feeling today?” Nat asks Laura, bringing Pepper's focus back to the conversation at hand.

Laura doesn't hesitate with the abrupt topic shift. “You got any of that red from last week?”

“I think so.”

“Whiskey’s fine too if not,” Laura calls as Nat disappears into the kitchen. “Hi,” she adds, turning to face Pepper. “So sorry to intrude.”

Pepper waves the apology off. “Don’t worry about it. It was a bit of an impromptu visit anyway. I didn’t realize you and Nat had something on the books.”

Laura shrugs as she settles into a large chair. “Oh no, it’s nothing formal. We get together now and then for some wine and gossip.”

Pepper laughs lightly. “Well, that sounds delightful.”

“You’re more than welcome to join us. The more the merrier as they say. Especially if it's Nat's alcohol we're drinking," she adds with a light laugh.

Pepper smiles at Laura’s offer, but her mind has jumped back to their first meeting at Natasha's funeral. She'd heard some things about the Bartons from Tony over the years, but she hadn't ever met any of them besides Clint before then.

* * *

_ "Hi, we haven't really met. I'm-" _

_ "Mrs. Barton," Pepper finishes for her. "Tony told me about you and your children." _

_ "Right. Of course. Please, call me Laura." _

_ "Only if you call me Pepper." _

_ Laura nods. It's quiet for a beat, and then, "I'm sorry for your loss." _

_ "Thank you," Pepper says with a sad smile. "I'm sorry for yours," she adds, knowing how close Natasha had been with the Barton family. _

_ Laura returns the smile with a sad one of her own. "I'm sorry to bother you, but I wanted to ask… Clint and I found out that Nat had been running an organization that was helping kids orphaned by the...the Blip, I think they're calling it?" Pepper nods. "I'm sure you have everything handled...but we wanted to offer our help." _

_ Pepper can hear the emotion beneath the words and can see the woman's throat tensing with the effort of holding everything in. _

_ "I know it's not much, but we'd like to help any way we can." She pauses and Pepper can see the emotions beginning to spill over. "We want to honour what Nat...what she started. We want to keep it going." _

_ Pepper nods and pretends not to notice the tear slipping down Laura's cheek. It's easy to see that Laura Barton is kind and loves her family fiercely, and that Natasha was very much a part of that family. _

_ "She did so much for us and I just...I can't do anything to repay her now, but I want to...to-" _

_ Pepper lays a hand on her arm. Maybe it's the shared experience of having just lost a loved one, but she feels a kinship with Laura despite having just met her. "I understand," she says softly with a nod. "We'd be happy to have you both help." _

_ "Thank you," Laura says with a nod, offering a watery smile as she wipes at the tears that have sneaked out. "I'm sorry. I'm not usually so…" _

_ Pepper offers a reassuring smile. "It’s okay, I understand." _

_ Laura's eyes widen. "Of course. God, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to imply that you didn't-" _

_ Pepper's hand finds Laura's arm again. "It's alright." _

_ Laura blows out a breath. "It's hard, isn't it?" _

_ "Yeah," Pepper replies with a nod. _

_ "I just- In a way, I'm still expecting her to stroll through my door one day. It doesn't seem real." _

_ Pepper nods understandingly. "I still wait to hear him tucking in Morgan at night. I know he's gone, but...somehow I'm still expecting to hear him telling her a story." _

_ "They say it gets easier with time," Laura throws out. "I'm not sure I believe that," she adds after a moment. _

_ Pepper offers a pained, empathetic smile. "Me neither." _

_ They fall into a companionable silence then, and Pepper lets her mind wander to happier times. Memories from the days when Tony had been overjoyed at being a new father, and when she and Natasha had coffee dates to trade stories about the idiotic men in their lives. In some ways it hurts to remember them, but it's also a balm on her aching heart. And even though she doesn’t believe it, she really hopes that in time it will stop hurting so much. _

* * *

“Oh, absolutely,” Nat says as she reappears, wine glass in hand for Laura, startling Pepper out of her memories. “You should totally join us.”

Pepper's gaze flits from Natasha to Laura again and finds that the woman's eyes are still just as warm and friendly as they were all those years ago. While they had never spent much more time together after that day, that kinship she'd felt had lingered, knowing they had shared in the loss of a loved one in similar circumstances. _ Well, somewhat similar. She didn't get to be with her like I did with Tony... _

Suddenly the silence that has dragged on just a little too long becomes apparent to Pepper. “Well, I guess I’ll have to make some time in my busy schedule,” she quips, letting the melancholy thoughts in her mind drift away.

The conversation flows easily from that point. Laura tells them about her family and Clint's continued penchant for renovations - apparently he and Nat had done quite a bit of work on her house, and he had a few more planned for his and Laura’s place. Nat pipes in with stories about some of Tony's mishaps with his continued tinkering of random electronics, and a few tales of Phil Coulson's still ever present hero worship for Captain America - more proof that some things never change. Pepper shares stories about Rhodey, Happy, and Morgan in the years following the battle at the Compound. At some point Tony returned and began fiddling with the display, prompting them all to flick their gazes to the kitchen from time to time as loud noises and words of frustration sounded out.

"Refills?" Nat offers as she gets up, her own glass empty.

Laura holds up a mostly full wine glass and shakes her head. "I'm good."

"Pepper?"

"Uh , sure," she agrees and holds up her glass when Nat reaches to grab it. She watches as the redhead disappears into the kitchen again, and this time she hears the familiar tones of her husband's rambling. Probably updating her on his progress and his plans for upgrades.

"I'm actually glad to have run into you," Laura says once Nat is out of earshot.

"Oh?" Pepper replies, head tilting in question.

"I sent a letter, but I wanted to thank you in person. I know it was you who cut through all that red tape so Nat's will could be honoured."

"It seemed only right," Pepper offers. The amount of red tape that'd been thrown up because they couldn't legally prove Natasha had died… It had infuriated her and she couldn't stand to let it drag on. She’d set a team of the company’s lawyers on it, and they’d thankfully been able to make quick work of sorting it out.

"Well, without it we wouldn't have gotten the documents that led Clint to her boltholes which of course led us to more documents. Turns out Nat hid a lot away and left most of it to my kids. They all went and could afford college because of what you did."

"I know Nat and Tony had their differences, but she and I were okay...we were friends. And when I heard about those scumbags that were making things difficult, I couldn't just stand by while the woman who'd sacrificed herself to save everyone didn't get to have her last wishes honoured. She'd already given her life, and most of her things had been destroyed in the battle... It was the _ least _ I could do for my friend that her final requests be honoured."

Laura smiles gently as she nods slowly. "Well, we're very appreciative. And I'm sorry I never reached out to thank you in person."

"Your letter was more than enough, Laura," she says, remembering vividly when her assistant had handed it to her in confusion, not understanding why she was getting a letter from a rural part of Iowa. "And besides, like I said, it was the least I could do."

"Just so you know, Pepper," Nat says as she reenters the room and hands over her drink, "your husband has completely disassembled the entire unit."

Pepper's head falls into her hand. "Oh god."

Nat grins. "Not to worry, he'll be busy for another couple hours now. So we should probably think about dinner."

"Oh shoot. I'm on the hook for cooking at the house tonight. I completely forgot," Laura says with a frown before taking a sip of her wine.

Nat chuckles. "You're welcome here if you want. Family too, of course. In fact, it's been awhile since we’ve all had dinner together."

"It has. Maybe we should..." Laura hedges, a familiar glint in her eye. "Are you offering to cook?"

Nat laughs knowingly. "Tony ate all the pelmeni, sorry."

"Damn."

"We could do pizza. There's that great place not far from here, and I bet Tony hasn't taken you there yet, has he?" she suggests, turning to face Pepper.

Pepper shakes her head. "Not yet."

"Great. Let's do pizza. Now…where were we?"

"I was about to ask you two how you met," Laura says with a grin.

"You know this story already," Nat groans.

"No, I know _ your _ version of the story. I want to hear Pepper's side."

Pepper laughs. "Well, after Tony made the arguably boneheaded decision to-"

"I would argue it was an excellent decision," Nat corrects cheekily. “I’m certain the stocks would have plummeted if he’d left himself in charge much longer.”

Pepper rolls her eyes. "Alright fine, the arguably _ good _decision to make me CEO, we needed to make it official. So legal sent Ms. Rushman up to notarize it."

Laura laughs and Nat groans again.

"So she comes into the room while Tony is in his boxing ring with Happy and he asks her to join him there."

"It doesn’t sound that bad when you tell it," Laura says. "Nat always made it sound-"

"I'm telling you, that assignment was torturous. A waste of my talents."

Pepper smiles at Natasha’s comments. "So she joins him, and then he abruptly leaves her with Happy because she’s completely flummoxed him.”

“Continued eye contact does that to him. Besides, he just wanted to ogle me from afar,” Nat adds before taking a sip of her vodka.

“About that...I’m sorry.”

Nat shrugs. "First of all, don’t apologize for him. Second of all, I got to stab him in the neck later that week, and he did eventually apologize for it, so I’m calling it even."

"He apologized?"

She nods. "Yeah, we had a little tête-à-tête not long after we both ended up here. Amazing how much ground you can cover in a conversation when Tony decides he _ wants _ to talk about the hard stuff.”

Pepper shakes her head minutely in surprise. She never figured Tony to be the type to apologize for specific instances of his behaviour, or purposefully bring up the tough conversations...

"Anyway, eventually he decides he's had enough fun and decides to make it official-" Pepper stops abruptly as a thought occurs to her. "Wait...if you weren't really a notary then-"

"Relax, it was all on the up and up," Natasha soothes before taking a drink. "SHIELD was annoyingly methodical about these things. Your tenure as CEO was never in jeopardy. At least not because of it being faulty from the get go."

She breathes out a sigh of relief.

“Besides, you’re dead - what does it matter?” Nat adds with an amused arched eyebrow.

Pepper blushes and tries to glare, but finds a smile sneaking onto her face as she hears Laura begin to laugh and sees Nat continue to grin.

Then a thought occurs to her. Maybe it’s unwise to tread into a battle of wits with a former spy, but she was no slouch herself… “Should we talk about the time Tony caught you erasing footage of-”

“No, no,” Nat interrupts. “We don’t need to talk about that.”

“Oh, I think we do,” Laura says, leaning forward in interest. “I think we absolutely do.”

Pepper grins widely. She can feel the effects of the alcohol, yes, but more so she can feel the effects of her anxiety having melted away. She’d been a bit uneasy since arriving in the afterlife, life after death having thrown her for a bit of a loop apparently, but this chance to relive the happier moments of their lives was a balm. Maybe Nat was right - maybe this place provided exactly what you needed. Or maybe they’d just earned the right for some real rest and relaxation. Either way, she wasn’t going to turn down the chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one was born from the conversation between Laura and Pepper at Natasha's funeral. I got that scene down ages ago and tried to figure out a way to work it in. then, because of the drama in the world I had some time to sit down and write. and voila, this chapter.
> 
> thoughts? comments? suggestions for future? do let me know...
> 
> oh, and stay safe, y'all! :)


	24. Work in Progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve joins Natasha to watch the sun come up, he learns a bit more about her past, and they talk about homes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an abundance of time at home has allowed me more time to write, and so this one comes a bit quicker than usual.
> 
> enjoy.

"Still got a thing for sunrises, huh?" Steve says as he approaches the dock, holding a thermos of coffee, a blanket, and a couple of mugs.

Natasha turns and smiles softly. Steve is struck by how ethereal she looks in the warm hues of the rising sun. 

"Old habits die hard," she says as she looks up at him. "And besides, it reminds me of home."

Steve hums in agreement as he hands her the blanket and smiles when she immediately wraps it around her shoulders.

"Careful, old man. Gotta watch those hips," she teases as he eases down to sit beside her.

"You know what, Romanoff?" he retorts with a playful frown.

"What, Rogers?" she replies innocently.

"You better watch those manners or I won't share any of this," he threatens as he holds up the thermos.

"Just as well," she answers lazily as she leans back onto her elbows and crosses her ankles, "that stuff probably barely qualifies as coffee. More like sludge."

"Hey," he protests, "it's not that bad."

"I'm pretty sure you won't be able to even pour it."

He frowns and peeks inside the thermos. He never had been very good at making coffee, but he hadn't been that bad… Had he? "It's liquid," he confirms.

She lets out a deep belly laugh and Steve grins at the sound. "Well in that case maybe I'll take my chances. Go on, Rogers, pour me some."

He obliges and hands her the mug, watching as she sniffs it appraisingly before taking a tentative sip. "Mm, not bad after all."

"And you doubted me."

"No, I spoke from experience," she corrects with a cheeky grin.

"That's cold, Romanoff."

"What, the man who's always honest wants me to lie? My, my, Steve, how things have changed. I really did corrupt you like they always said I would."

He shakes his head but can't help the huff of laughter from escaping.

"You should try painting one of these," she suggests, gesturing with her mug to the red and gold hues beginning to spread across the sky.

He takes a drink from his own mug, considering her suggestion. He'd never been much of a painter, instead preferring to sketch, but he did have an abundance of time on his hands now…

"Maybe," he hedges. "Never been very good at painting though. Don't think I could do it justice."

"Few people really can. Maybe you should try photography. You mastered a cell phone, I bet a camera wouldn't be too difficult for you."

"Why do I get the feeling you're a closeted expert at photography?"

She laughs again. "Nope. Been decades since I held a camera that wasn't in a cell phone."

"Maybe something to try then," he replies, turning her own suggestion back on her.

"Nah, you're the artistic one around here. Don't wanna step on your toes."

"Says the woman who's a ballerina."

"I'm not a ballerina."

"You do ballet," he argues, "and last time I checked that makes you a ballerina."

She gives him a quick, light-hearted side eye glare before taking another drink.

"You know, I've never seen you dance.

"I've never seen you dance either."

"Nat," he scolds. "Stop dodging."

"Old habits die hard," she says with a guilty smile.

He shakes his head. "Nice try," he says while throwing an expectant look at her.

She sighs. "I have a complicated history with dancing."

"That makes two of us."

"Not the same kind of complicated," she retorts.

He turns his head to face her, finding a thoughtful but perhaps a little troubled expression on her face. He wants to push, wants to tell her not to split hairs, but something tells him not to, so he takes a different approach. "Well, if you want to talk, I'm here," he offers casually.

She turns to eye him appraisingly, as though she's weighing the genuineness of his casual nature. He offers a gentle smile that he hopes she takes as encouraging.

She opens her mouth and he's hopeful that she's going to open up a bit more. "Refill?" she asks instead while holding out her mug, and his hopes are dashed. He obliges her request, pouring her some more before refilling his own mug.

It's quiet for several minutes as their gazes stay fixed on the spreading colours across the sky. His mind wanders to all the times they'd done this when they were alive, and he wonders how often she'd done it after he moved out of the Compound.

"It was a part of my training in the Red Room," Nat says suddenly.

Steve blinks as he works to keep his reaction relaxed and casual. He figured dancing had been a part of her training. He'd heard comments here and there about how good she was from Tony, Maria, and Clint, and he knew that level of skill didn't come without years of training...so it hadn't been a stretch to put two and two together.

"It built muscle and flexibility, not to mention helped with our endurance and overall fitness. But the key thing was obedience."

Her gaze has drifted out over the lake, but Steve's certain she's not actually seeing anything but ghosts of her memories.

"They'd make us do it for hours. The same routines over and over and over again. It helped them weed out the weak ones...the breakable ones."

She sighs heavily. "But even with all of that...I still loved it. Even when my feet were bleeding, toes breaking, and muscles screaming in protest...I still loved it. Looking back now...it was maybe the one thing that kept me sane and let me keep a shred of my humanity."

Steve takes a drink of coffee to mask his anger. He'd seen some terrible things in the war and then many more during his time with the Avengers, yes, but to picture a young Natasha alongside dozens of other girls, fighting against collapsing from exhaustion and pain...that was beyond evil.

"When I got out, I decided that it wasn't going to be something they got to take from me. I decided I was going to use it as a proverbial 'fuck you' to them, because they'd used it with dark intentions and I'd turned it around instead. But as much as it let me escape my thoughts, it always reminded me of my time there too. It was inescapable. But I refused to let them win."

"Stubborn as a mule," Steve offers softly with a proud smile.

She smiles, but he can see the hauntedness in her eyes. "So I changed the music. Instead of the typical classical, I used hip-hop."

"A proverbial 'fuck you'," Steve says in understanding.

"Language," she admonishes. It lacks her usual bite, but he'll take it. "Anyway, it's been awhile since I've danced. Not since before we jumped back in time."

Steve's eyebrows rise. "That long, huh?"

"Yeah," she breathes out. "Haven't been ready."

Steve tips his gaze back to the sun, which is nearly halfway above the horizon now. "These things take time, and I'll never push you to do it," he promises, "but I'd really like to see you dance some day."

She turns her head to face him. "You know, some people would take that as a pickup line."

His cheeks flush with colour and Nat laughs. "You know that's not what I meant," he protests.

"Yeah," she agrees, "but it's fun to watch you squirm all the same."

"I'll have you know I'm a happily married man."

"Yeah, yeah, rub it in why don't you?" she quips.

Her response is clearly flippant, but he wonders about it. He'd found love, so had Clint, and Tony, and Thor. "You ever think about that?" he asks.

She turns to him again. "Marriage?" she confirms. He nods. "No, can't say I ever did."

"Why not?"

"It's not exactly something I was raised to want."

"But after you got out?"

She shrugs as she lets out an exhale. "Wasn't in the cards for me. I was married to the job. Kids weren't ever something I could have, biologically or otherwise. I wasn't bitter about it, just...never considered it a possibility."

He blinks at the tidbit of information she'd shared. She'd alluded to some things the Red Room had done in terms of medical procedures in the past, but never specifics. He takes another drink to mask his anger that they might have done it _ to _ her.

"Marriage is more than having kids," he says in what he hopes is a neutral tone.

"I'm not disputing that. But it's hard to have shared life experiences with someone when you've lived the life I did. I never had normal to begin with."

"Didn't you once tell me to make something up when I said the same thing?"

She smiles. "So the old man's memory hasn't failed him yet."

"Nat," he warns.

She breathes in deeply and exhales slowly. "Thanos changed everything. Anything I might've wanted or been able to maybe want one day went out the window."

Steve nods because he gets it. Happiness had disappeared along with half of the universe, and instead they were left to watch their remaining friends struggle to stay afloat. "What about now?"

Her brow furrows. "Now?"

"Lots of people here. Maybe one of them has some shared life experiences with you."

"Are you trying to set me up, Rogers?"

He chuckles. "That'd be justice now wouldn't it?"

She laughs. "I suppose it would be. But I'm content with how things are."

"Okay. Just...don't dismiss the idea, Nat. You deserve to be happy."

"Don't need a relationship to be happy," she counters.

"I'm not saying you do. I'm saying don't dismiss something that might come along just because you've decided you're supposed to lead a life of solitude. You can get close to people now...form attachments."

"Oh, cut it out with the counsellor shit," she says as she points an accusing finger at him.

He grins apologetically. "Force o' habit. Sorry."

"Apology accepted...conditionally."

He barks out a laugh. "Conditionally?"

She smiles. "Well if you bring up that counsellor shit again, I'm revoking it."

"Alright, alright. But can I ask one last thing?"

Her gaze narrows. "I don't guarantee an answer."

"Why are you staying here, Nat?"

She frowns. "At the Compound?" He nods. "It's my home," she answers simply.

"Is it?" he asks and she looks at him in confusion. "It's far too big for one person, and it's just a reminder of your pain."

Her frown deepens but she doesn't say anything.

"I saw how much it was hurting that last time I came by...before Scott showed up. You were...you were broken, Nat. Why keep those memories alive?"

"I had good memories here too, Steve. Time with Sam, Wanda, and Rhodey." She pauses for a moment, her expression contemplative. "It was the first place I felt like I really had a place in the world, the first place where I really had a family."

"What about the Bartons?"

"They were family, yes, but I always knew I was stepping into _ their _ family. But the team...I was a part of that from the beginning, even if we were a patchwork of people."

Steve takes a moment to look at her, thinking once again about everything she'd been through in her life. He can't imagine surviving his childhood without the support of his mother or Bucky and the rest of the Barnes family. He can't imagine having no happy childhood memories to fall back on. But somehow she'd survived without any of that.

"And so when we moved into the Compound after Sokovia, even though Thor and Bruce were gone, and Tony wasn't around all that much, it still felt like a home," she finishes.

He smiles and nods, because he gets it. It had felt like a home to him too. But he'd had those memories of his childhood home and growing up with Bucky too. She had nightmares of fighting for her life as a child and being forced to do unspeakable things.

"You can still visit here, Nat. But you don't need to stay here in these memories. You've got a place somewhere out there that's literally perfect for you, because that's how this place works. It's gonna be exactly what you need. You made the Compound a home back then, you can do that here too."

He lets the words sit for a moment before he presses on. "You have more than just this, Nat. You have me, Tony, and Phil, and you have your memories of your life. And those aren't tied to this place alone. I think it's time you take off the shackles of your past that's still haunting you."

She's quiet as his words hang in the air, and then she turns to meet his gaze and she replies softly, "I'm not ready, Steve."

He finds a vulnerability there he hasn't seen often, and knows that she's telling the truth. For as much as she tries to pretend she's accepted her fate and come to terms with everything...there's still a lot that she hasn't unpacked and dealt with yet.

"Okay," he replies with an understanding nod. "But when you are, I'm here for you."

* * *

Steve looks up at the house, finding it to be surprisingly historical looking. For some reason he'd always figured her to gravitate to more modern, urban styles.

"So, does it pass muster, Cap?"

He grins as her voice washes over him and turns to find her leaning on a broken fence in the front yard.

"Could use some work."

"Yeah," she agrees, "but it's not like I'm overly busy these days. May as well do something productive."

"You never struck me as the handyman type."

"Well that's because I'm a woman," she retorts, that familiar amused smirk appearing again.

"You're a real pain in the ass sometimes, you know that?"

"Language," she admonishes.

"One time. I say it _ one time _ and you all never let me live it down."

"Hard to when it was so ridiculous."

"Nat," he sighs in exasperation, because this is supposed to _ her _ day.

"Relax, soldier," she shushes him. "Who do you think helped Clint with his renovations?"

"Laura?"

Nat laughs. "No, she refused. Said if he was going to start them, then he better finish them, and she wasn't going to help him."

"I'm starting to understand how she's managed to put up with Clint as long as she has."

Nat laughs. "They love each other, they really do, but she's always had his number. He can't say no to her."

Steve grins because he knows a thing or two about that. Peggy had always kept him in line and he'd never really been able to say no to her either.

He tips his gaze back up appraisingly over the house again. "You sure this is it?"

"Steve," she exhales.

"Just checkin'," he replies, holding up his hands in innocence. "You ready to take a look inside?"

"You only live once, right?" she quips.

"For the record," he begins as he walks up the stairs to the front door, "that's not funny," he finishes as he shoots an unimpressed look back at her.

"I thought it was hilarious," she offers with an unapologetic grin.

"Shut up and open the door, would ya?"

She grins as she squeezes past him and opens the door. Inside is a mixture of old, historical finishes and some partially finished modern renovations. All the houses he's seen here in the afterlife had been completely finished, exactly to the style of their inhabitants. Nat's is the first that's been unfinished that he's seen.

"Wow," he says. "Bit of a work in progress, huh?"

Nat doesn't answer, but he sees her eyes are wide as she takes in every inch of the space. He can tell right away that she's totally in love with the place, even if it probably doesn't look like much to anyone else. Though he has to admit, the bones of the place look good and he can see some serious potential.

He stays quiet and elects to simply follow her as she explores the house. They move from the entryway into the den that's adjacent to it, and then through to the kitchen at the back. It's missing the counters and appliances, but there's wide windows that let in a ton of light and have a beautiful view of the forest that the house backs onto. From there they go on to see a small bathroom, the laundry room, an office, spare room, and access to the attached garage.

Her hand drifts up the wooden bannister as they head upstairs, and she seems totally entranced. They see a few rooms on the second floor, including the master bedroom and ensuite which includes a deep soaker tub that makes her smile widen considerably, before they make their way back downstairs and head back to the kitchen.

"So?" Steve prompts, unable to stay quiet any longer.

A smile curls on her lips. "I love it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she confirms with a nod.

"Gonna be a lot of work."

"I don't mind."

"Well, I can help if you want."

She smiles again. "I might just take you up on that."

"Hello?" They both turn at the sound of a new voice from the front door. "Anyone? Jeez, this place is a dump."

"Back here, Tony," Nat calls.

He appears in the kitchen a moment later. "Hey, Red, Cap," he says with a nod to each. "Mind telling me what exactly this place is?"

"It's my house," Nat answers, her gaze drifting around the room again.

"Uh, your house?" Tony echoes as his own gaze scans the room. "You didn't want something a little more...I don't know..._ finished _ maybe? I didn't even know houses here _ could _ be unfinished."

"I like it."

"Well, okay, but it's, uh, a bit...rustic, shall we say."

"I'm gonna finish it."

Tony slides his gaze over to meet Steve's and he raises his eyebrows before he shifts his gaze back to her. "_ You're _gonna finish it?"

"Yeah," she answers distractedly, eyes roaming over the space.

"Don't take offense to this, Nat, but do you even know how to do any of this?"

She shrugs. "I helped Clint with his renovations. And anything else I can learn."

"Right...but that's gonna take ages."

"Not like I have anywhere else to be or anything else to do."

"O...kay," he says slowly. "Cap, you good with this?"

Steve nods. "It's her home," he offers in explanation.

Tony, to his credit, seems to understand the meaning in his short answer. Just like she'd built her own family when she was alive, she was going to build her home here too.

Tony blows out a breath and then begins walking around the kitchen, scrutinizing the exposed studs and unfinished construction. "Well, I suppose with everything open like this it gives you a lot of freedom to run wires as needed. Could get you set up with an AI if you want. No?" he says when he notices her shaking her head. "Alright, well, at least some displays and speakers. And a bitchin' tv and sound system in the den. Don't worry, Tony will hook you up."

Steve grimaces. "And does Tony always talk himself in the-"

"Huh? Sorry, can't hear you, old man. Planning here," he dismisses as he pulls out his phone and begins scanning the room, making notes here and there before he heads back toward the den.

Steve looks back over at Nat and finds her with such a happy expression on her face that he can't but smile himself. "This is gonna work, Nat," he says.

She turns to face him. "Yeah, I think it is."

"Some nice appliances, good counters, maybe an island here… It's a nice space."

"I could cook again," she murmurs.

"Hang on, what do you mean cook _ again _? I've never seen you cook. You basically lived off of peanut butter sandwiches after-"

"Yeah, well, I wasn't exactly motivated to put the effort in to cook then. But I'll have you know that I know my way around a kitchen."

"I swear you just like to continually surprise me."

Before she can respond they hear Tony yell from the front room. "Hey, what're you thinking for in here? Tv? No tv?"

Steve shares another grin with her.

"Hey, c'mon people, I'm not doing this all by myself!"

"Relax, no need to get all worked up, Shell-Head," Nat returns as she starts to head back towards the front room to join him.

Steve grabs her arm when she passes by him. "I'm happy for you, Nat," he says as he wraps an arm around her shoulders and then begins to walk with her. "You deserve this."

"Honestly, Nat. It's like you don't even care," Tony pipes up. "You may as well just let me have fre-"

"No, you do not get free rein over _ my _ house," she says as they arrive in the room to find Tony halfway into a hole in a wall.

"Well, then give me some input! What are you thinking!?" he replies as he pops out of the hole, dust covering his hair.

"I'm thinking it was a mistake to invite you here."

"Hey, be nice to your electrician."

"You're not an electrician."

He waves it off. "I know enough. Besides, what's the worst that could happen? I electrocute myself and die?"

Steve drops his face into one of his hands. "What is with you two and dark humour?"

Tony ignores him. "You thinking screen or projector? I've got some interesting prototypes for projectors back at my place that could be modified to work here."

"Isn't the light in here going to compromise the brightness from the projector?" Nat volleys back, and Steve is surprised, not for the first time in his life, at just how much she seems to know.

"No, no, see that's the beauty of the projectors I have at home…"

Steve tunes out the rest of Tony's explanation in favour of watching the two of them. He can't help but smile to see them happy and their eyes alight. They'd both given up so much, but here, as they banter back and forth in the place espoused for eternal rest, he feels hopeful that they might find some peace after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one came together pretty quickly - quicker than usual, in fact. I just love writing the friendship between these two.
> 
> hope everyone is staying safe in these uncertain times.  
as always, let me know any thoughts or feedback, and if you have suggestions for future characters to feature.


	25. Remembered for Something Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria sits down with Clint on an important day for Natasha, and they run into an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because a few people asked to see Maria again. I think there's a lot of potential to play with in terms of her friendship with Nat, and I doubt this'll be the last time I write them.
> 
> I hope this one is a bit on the lighter side for you (though, I mean...I can't help the teeny bits of angst from creeping in...).
> 
> hope y'all are staying safe in these uncertain times, and hope everyone is healthy!!
> 
> enjoy.

Maria watches Clint shove his hands into his pockets as he tips his gaze down to the base of the tree where there are a few bouquets of flowers laid gently. She hadn't meant to intrude on his time here. She'd figured he'd be at home with his family. But as she watches him scrutinize the flowers at the base of the trunk of the tree, she feels almost like a stranger infringing on a very private moment.

She can't see his face, but his posture is one of a man struggling under the weight of guilt and grief. It’s not a surprise, with the day being what it is. She knows the already painful emotions are hitting harder today, because they’re hitting  _ her _ harder too. She doesn't know the details of what happened exactly to lead to Nat's death, but she doesn't blame him. No one does. Except, unfortunately, Clint himself. But that doesn’t surprise her.

Her gaze drops to the flowers. She knows for sure one of them is from Fury. It's fresh, the colours still vibrant and lively, and was probably left that morning if she were to guess. The other two are a touch older, their colours having faded as though they've been out for a bit. She guesses Maximoff and maybe Banner for the other two. 

"It's not polite to stare, you know," he calls out. She resists the urge to roll her eyes as she begins to walk toward him. Did he really not expect her to  _ know  _ that he'd realize she was there? Really? It was an insult to her competency.

"Didn't expect to see anyone else here today," he adds once she's standing beside him.

"Anniversary of her joining SHIELD," she explains simply with a shrug. "She told me once when we were drinking that it was the most important day of her life.” She pauses as the memory wraps around her with a familiar warmth and the corner of her mouth ticks up in a half smile. “I spent the next week trying to figure out if she told me that because she was well and truly drunk, if she was being honest, or if she was screwing with me."

"She was being honest," he replies, answering the unasked question. "She liked you."

"She tolerated me," Maria quips. "She liked you."

"No, she liked you," he refutes with a shake of his head. "She liked that you didn't put up with bullshit. Probably didn't hurt that you treated her like an actual person after she defected."

His answer is more sombre than she'd expected. His tone had been teasing and almost light at the start, despite the heaviness of the situation.

"Not right away," Maria points out. She'd been plenty wary of the supposedly "former" Russian spy at the time. It had taken a few missions and a good chunk of time before she began to trust Natasha, and even longer before they began to forge a true friendship. But once they did, Maria got the feeling that as long as she did right by Nat she could always count on her support. Maybe Clint was right. Maybe Nat really did like her. She didn't share drinks with just anyone, after all...

Clint shrugs. "But after she proved herself...when most of the guys were still angry and being assholes...you were respectful and decent. She didn't forget that. Probably didn't hurt either that you weren't dripping in testosterone like the rest of the guys."

Maria lets out a huff of amusement. "Probably not," she agrees. Her eyes drift to the bouquet of flowers tucked under his arm. "Didn't take you for a flowers kind of guy," she says nodding to the bouquet.

He shrugs. "I'm not really. But I mean, what else do you bring, right?" He sighs. "Laura pointed out that they aren't for Nat. At least, not really. They're more for us to say what we would want her to know. For us to do something to grieve."

Maria nods as she turns over his words in her head. They make a lot of sense. She figures on some level she already knew it. Funerals, after all, were for the living, not the dead.

"She also told me these ones are called, uh, gladioli, I think she said, and they mean remembrance, honour, and integrity." He pauses for a moment as his gaze tips up to the small branches that have begun to spread and grow since the tree was planted months ago. "Can't possibly say everything I'd want her to know, but these are something, right?"

Maria nods and he steps forward with a soft sigh before he squats down and places the bouquet. All at once she feels another wave of regret wash over her that she's stepped in on his private moment. He and Nat had been friends and partners for years, getting to the point where they could communicate with each other with just glances. Hell, Nat had become a part of his family. Maria thinks she should look away and give him some privacy, but instead she watches as he stares intently at the flowers he hasn't let go of yet. He lingers there for another moment and then pats the bouquet once gently before he gets up and steps back in line with Maria.

She falters for only a second before she steps forward and lays her own bouquet of flowers. She hadn't known what flowers to bring either, but the florist had pointed her in the right direction. The purple flowers, which she'd learned were called statice, apparently symbolized remembrance. If nothing else, she'd want Nat to know that she would remember her for the good friend, excellent agent, and hero that she was. She lingers for a moment, closing her eyes and letting herself remember Nat and trying to think of everything she'd want to tell her.

A conversation from years gone by drifts forward in her mind, where Nat had told her that she wanted to be remembered for something good instead of just being the Black Widow. The Avengers were still a few years off from being formed but even then Maria had known Natasha Romanoff would have her name etched in SHIELD history for more than just having defected. She'd been an exemplary agent, even if her methods were often outside of standard procedure, and had worked harder than anyone Maria knew. Fury had trusted her with some of the most important missions and intel, and had leaned on her expertise for counsel now and then - something he did not do often. With anyone. But more than all of that, she’d been a good person and a good friend.

Clint chuckles and Maria turns to face him as she stands, a silent question in her expression. "I got her flowers for her first anniversary of joining SHIELD," he explains. "She laughed at me and asked why I would give her something that was going to die so quickly, and what exactly she was supposed to read into that."

Maria smiles, because it was such a  _ Nat _ thing to say.

“I know she loved them though,” Clint continues. “I could tell from the way she said it. She was teasing me, but she was appreciative too. And I’m like 80% sure she was smiling behind the bouquet.”

Maria lets out a huff of amusement because that was such a  _ Barton _ thing to say. But she realizes then that she knows this story.

* * *

_ Maria rubs at her eyes as she leans back in her chair and blows out a tired sigh. They’d been poring over the pages of information for hours now, and she was starting to feel the strain in her eyes. _

_ “We can shelve this and come back to it tomorrow if you want,” Nat offers. _

_ “No,” Maria replies, eyes opening to meet Nat’s gaze, “we should finish this tonight. Steve’s expecting it for the briefing tomorrow.” _

_ “You sure?” _

_ “Yeah. Just give me a few minutes. The teeny, tiny print is killing my eyes.” _

_ “Time for some glasses?” Nat teases as she kicks her feet up on the desk and leans back in her chair. _

_ “Don’t start, Romanoff,” Maria warns. She knows if Nat gets going on a roll with the teasing, it won’t end for hours. “Unless you’re willing to provide the drinks to accompany it. And I don’t mean that Russian shit.” _

_ Nat barks out a laugh. “Russian vodka is not shit. It’s superior.” _

_ “Spoken like a true Russian.” _

_ “Why thank you,” she replies with a grin _

_ It irks Maria just a tiny bit that jabs at her Russian heritage never seem to bother her. Then again, no one’s brave enough to really throw around the heavier jabs. Or, as she likes to think of it - no one is dumb enough to try. _

_ “Did you actually want a drink? I’ve got some bourbon kicking around here somewhere. Tony gave it to me as a gag gift because he wanted me to “become a true American” as he put it.” _

_ Maria laughs. “If Stark was involved, it’s gotta be the good stuff, so I definitely won’t say no.” _

_ “You got it,” Nat says as she swings her legs off the desk and swivels in her chair to dig into one of the drawers of the filing cabinet on the wall behind her. _

_ Maria takes the opportunity to look around the office. Between getting training up and running for the new Avengers and trying to coordinate logistics with the final construction projects going on at the Compound, Nat hadn’t really had a chance to move into her office until the past week. The office was larger than any of the ones Maria had ever had at SHIELD, but knowing that Stark had always adhered to the ‘go big or go home’ mentality, that wasn’t a surprise. She spots a few pieces of art on the walls, which she guesses are probably from Stark’s collection. They seem to be her taste though, and she wonders if he picked them specifically for her. _

_ Beneath the numerous folders and piles of paper they’d been going over is a meticulously neat desk, complete with a laptop and tablet with more technological bells and whistles than Maria could ever imagine. But what really catches her eye is the shadow box containing a few dried flowers. _

_ Nat catches her staring and in a rare show of openness, provides an explanation. "They're from Clint. He gave them to me after my first year at SHIELD.” _

_ Maria’s eyebrows rise in surprise. She’d never taken Nat to be overly sentimental. Sure, she had the arrow necklace and a few cards the Barton kids had sent her hidden away, but this was new. "I thought you didn't like flowers." _

_ "I never said that," she answers with a quickly arched brow that silently challenges Maria to argue differently. Knowing Nat, she probably hadn’t explicitly stated it and had opted to let vague statements be read into instead. _

_ Maria takes the glass of bourbon that Nat holds out to her and takes a sip, finding her assumptions of its quality to be correct. “Of course not,” she remarks drily. _

_ Nat leans back and kicks her feet up again. “As you can imagine, I didn’t have any possessions growing up, so I came into SHIELD with pretty much just the clothes on my back. Clint took me to get some stuff, but none of it was really personal at all - a couple house plants, some knick knacks he put in the cart, and some generic pictures. When he gave me the flowers for my anniversary at SHIELD, they were the first true meaningful thing that someone had ever given me that wasn’t a weapon. So I kept them. I had them at my place in the city, but since I’m here more than there…” _

* * *

She realizes she's gone quiet and hasn't said anything when she feels Clint's gaze on her. He'd evidently realized she was lost in her memories and had waited.

“She had a shadow box in her office at the Compound with a couple of those flowers in it. Said the flowers were the first meaningful thing someone had given her that wasn't a weapon."

Clint's expression falls and Maria feels a pang of sympathy. It'd been months since they lost her, but she knows for him it still feels painfully fresh. She misses Nat too, of course, but not in the same way he does. She figures for him it's a deeper, more painful loss.

"Guess those are long gone," he says bitterly, tipping his gaze over to the still remaining remnants of wreckage from the old Compound.

"Yeah," she replies absently.

"Hey, you wanna grab a drink?" he asks suddenly.

Maria turns to face him with slightly widened eyes and then glances at her watch. "It's 8am."

"I didn't say alcoholic drinks," he argues with a roll of his eyes. "Coffee and tea are also drinks."

She holds in a grimace at his slightly smug expression. "God, I don't know how she put up with you all those years."

"Yeah, me neither," he says, his tone taking on some shades of melancholy as it shifts away all at once from what had been light and teasing. "So, drinks?"

She weighs her options. She doesn't have anything planned for the morning, and Fury had let her go with instructions to "do what you need to do" and a curt nod because he’d known exactly what day it was. And Clint looks like he could use the company…

"Sure, I could go for a coffee."

* * *

"Do you remember that mission in Switzerland?"

Clint's brow furrows in thought as he spins his mug of coffee absently. She can once again see the weight of the time spent without his family and the loss of Natasha hanging off him, and she wonders if her own grief is as plainly visible to him. "Davos, right?" he answers after a moment, his hands stopping the spinning motion as he looks up again. "The Economic Conference."

"Fury sent in you, me, Nat, and Coulson," she counts off on her fingers.

He takes a long drink from his mug before he leans back against the back of the booth. They'd opted to stay put in the cafe since it had started raining just as they entered, and had headed to the back of the place to seek out some privacy once their drinks were ready.

He rubs his chin thoughtfully. "He told us it was a counter-op for some threats to the bigwig politicians there, but we were really just a glorified protection detail."

Maria nods as she takes a small sip. It had been a while since she'd had good coffee, and she'd been glad to see the place she used to frequent was still standing after the turmoil of those five years that she'd missed. "Op was for two weeks, but Nat sussed out all the threats and handled them on the first day."

"Right," Clint replies with a nod, "we were left with nothing to do."

"And when Coulson asked Fury for orders, he said to go skiing because we could all use a damn vacation."

Clint chuckles softly as a small smile curls on his lips. "I thought Nat's head was going to explode when she realized Fury had totally handled us."

"Well, handled  _ her _ mostly. Coulson and I both had approved leaves lined up a couple weeks later, and I'm pretty sure you would've gone home with no complaints. But he had to make it look like a legit mission, otherwise Nat wouldn't have gone along."

"Always was a sneaky bastard. But he wasn't wrong, she did need a break. Don't know why he didn't just send her home with me though."

"That was in her 'giving you space to be with your family' phase."

"Right. That was a dumb six months."

Maria laughs lightly. Nat hadn't realized how much she was loved by the Bartons until Clint started to inundate her with near daily videos of the kids whining for their Auntie Nat. "I think she figured out that she was wrong around 3 months in, but couldn't figure out an elegant solution to end her self-imposed distance without having to admit she was wrong."

"She always was stubborn."

"That's putting it lightly," Maria replies drily before taking another sip from her drink.

Clint stares at his mug for a moment. "It was a fun two weeks. I mean, I missed my family of course, but it was fun getting to be a regular tourist for once."

"Weird though."

He chuckles. "Definitely. Not that we can't be normal people, but to be normal with the people you work at a super secret organization with? Not so much."

She nods and smiles because she gets it. Relaxing around her colleagues was hard enough, let alone taking a vacation with them. They were all of them a bit broken and a bit dysfunctional, but they made it work. 

"Coulson made us take skiing lessons, didn't he?" Clint asks.

"Yeah, 'cause none of us had ever been."

"Nat was furious he didn't just let her loose on the hill. She tried to convince him she'd figure it out."

"Coulson denied her flatly and told her that while we were in fact on vacation, he was technically still responsible for making sure she wasn't brought home in a body bag. And he gave Nat the patented Coulson look of disappointment when she started trying to sweet talk the instructor."

"And yet she still ended up skiing circles around all of us."

"Of course she did," Maria grumbles.

"Still holding a grudge, Hill?"

"One thing," she says holding up a finger to emphasize her point. "I'd have liked to beat her at one thing, just once."

"You were better at paperwork," Clint offers with a cheeky grin.

She stares at him, unimpressed. "One thing she gave a shit about," Maria amends.

Clint chuckles. "If it's any consolation, I'm pretty sure if she'd ever given a shit about a bow and arrow I'd have been out of a job."

Maria waves it off. "She liked you too much to take that away from you."

Clint blinks, as though Maria's teasing words were occurring to him for the first time. "Well shit."

"Clint, I was kidding," Maria replies, suddenly a bit worried to have hit him while he was down, accidental or not. She wasn't one to use kid gloves around people, but even she could tell Nat was an especially sore subject for him.  _ Rightfully so _ she thinks sadly.

"Kidding or not, you're probably right."

Maria lets out a soft exhale as she watches him start to spin his mug again. "You want a refill?" she offers after a quick glance to the windows at the front of the cafe and finding it was still raining.

"Yeah, if you don't mind," he says with a nod, pushing his mug forward when she holds out a hand to grab it.

She takes their mugs and leaves them in the designated dirty dishes area before lining up to order. She's shocked to find a familiar face in line in front of her. "May?"

"Hill? What're you doing here?" May replies, her own shock clear on her face.

"Having coffee with Barton," she answers, nodding toward their table at the back of the cafe.

May's brow furrows and Maria can't blame her for the confusion. She and Barton didn't usually hang out outside of work after all. But...did she know about Natasha? She must...it's been months… Come to think of it, she had no idea where May had been.

"It's the anniversary of Natasha joining SHIELD," Maria offers in explanation.

May's expression shifts, and Maria sees the genuine sadness ripple across her face. "It's unbelievable, isn't it? She always seemed like she could beat even the worst odds."

"Yeah," Maria says with a nod. A beat of silence passes and then she adds, "You should join us."

May shakes her head. "Oh, I don't want to intru-"

"You wouldn't be," Maria interrupts. "It'll be nice to share some stories about her to someone else who was around in those early years. And I bet you've got a few of your own too."

May smiles. "Yeah, I've got a few."

* * *

Clint looks up as they approach the table and his eyes widen. "Well I'll be damned. As I live and breathe, Melinda May. The Cavalry, herself."

"Barton," she greets him with a nod and slides his mug over to him before sitting down. "Don't make me tell you again to not call me that," she warns.

"How're you? It's been awhile."

"Yeah, it has," she says apologetically. "Been better, been worse. All things considered...not bad."

"Missed you at Nat's funeral," Clint says, his tone sliding into accusatory. Maria shoots him a look of warning.

May's expression falls. "I didn't know about it."

Barton's brow arches doubtfully. "How?"

"Clint," Maria warns. She knows it's his grief leaking out. She knows he's not actually angry with May. Historically they'd always gotten along well.

"No, he's right to be angry. I wish I could have been there."

"Why weren't you?"

"Barton!" Maria says as her eyes widen further in shock. He'd always been a bit blunt, but never to this degree.

"I was...away."

"Define "away.” Because I know you two were friends, and I know she would've been at yours if things were reversed."

May blows out a breath. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Magical stones, half the world dusting away, and time travel are all things I've seen in the last five or so years. Nothing is going to surprise me anymore."

Maria is a little surprised by how much he’s willing to share, but then this was May...perhaps the only person who did compartmentalization better than Nat.

May’s eyes widen fractionally, but that's her only tell of emotion. "My team ran into some alien objects that had us catapulting through time and space for a long time," she answers plainly.

Maria and Clint both blink in shock as they try to process her words. They'd both assumed that the Avengers travelling through time to retrieve magical stones would be the ultimate in unbelievable things becoming reality.

"Shit, Mel," Clint says before turning to face Maria. "Now I'm  _ sure _ we should've gone for real drinks, morning or not."

"We're not here to do a debrief," May says bluntly with a shrug before taking a sip from her coffee. She turns to face Clint and her tone softens significantly. "I'm sorry. I know what it's like to lose someone you love."

Maria scrutinizes her for a moment, picking apart the depth of her words. Did that mean Coulson was gone now too?

"Don't we all," is Clint's response. He holds up his mug. "To lost friends."

"To lost friends," she and May echo as they raise their own mugs before taking a drink.

Silence washes over them for a moment as the absence of Nat echoes.

"She ever tell you about our op in San Francisco?" May asks suddenly.

Maria frowns. "No, I don't remember anything in San Francisco."

Clint shakes his head but stays quiet.

"We were sent in to do some surveillance on a few guys who were dipping their toes into some operations that were starting to tread into those despicable categories. So we spend weeks watching, mostly in near complete silence because let's face it, Nat and I were never renowned for our chattiness."

Maria and Clint both chuckle.  _ Talk about an understatement _ , Maria thinks to herself.

"So finally we get the go ahead to take out the operation because the opportunity had presented itself. Nat volunteers to be the one to go in, and says she'll be fine and will call for backup if she needs. I don't argue, because who am I to question the young hotshot agent that Coulson won't shut up about?"

Clint smirks and Maria watches as a smile creeps across May's face. It's clear that it's a fond memory for her, and Maria isn't the least bit surprised. Nat and May were a lot alike, and bonded fairly quickly over their shared strong work ethics, prowess in hand to hand combat, and general derision for stupidity.

"By the time an hour had gone by, I'm getting a little worried because I haven't heard or seen anything. Suddenly my comm crackles and it's Nat asking for my assistance. I rush in ready to help fight off some goons, and instead I find Nat behind a bar, mixing some drinks."

Maria and Clint's eyebrows both shoot up in surprise.

"I look around and find bodies strewn everywhere, but no threats so I holster my gun and head over to Nat. Before I can even ask, she's pushed a drink toward me and is gesturing for me to sit. Didn't even get a chance to ask anything before she explains that the guys were irritatingly easy to deal with, and that we both deserved a drink for our troubles of having had to watch their stupidity for weeks."

Clint barks out a laugh. "Yeah, that tracks. She hated wasting time."

"I still haven't figured out how she knew my drink though. We barely knew each other then."

"She always did seem to know everything," Maria interjects.

"We must have stayed there for another hour before we called it in. Just chatting and sipping our drinks."

"What'd Coulson and Fury say?" Clint asks.

"Coulson gave us his patented look of disapproval, but he was happy we'd bonded. Fury didn't say much of anything, but I got the feeling he was amused by the whole thing."

"You're just lucky he had a soft spot for Nat," Maria offers.

"Oh, I don't know if I would say he had a soft spot for her. Not in the beginning at least," Clint interjects. "I can remember at least a few times where he had the two of us in his office and he screamed until he was blue in the face."

"That's because you two were reckless. All the time," May offers.

"But effective," he counters.

"Yes, but you don't  _ always _ need to blow everything up. And you don't  _ always _ have to accidentally leave an arrow embedded in a guy's leg. Or arm," Maria points out.

"Party pooper," he accuses.

Maria rolls her eyes at his childish response. "I'm just saying, you two caused a hell of a lot of chaos considering you were both well trained in stealth."

He grins cheekily. "To be fair, we saved it for the real assholes. Nat liked to exact some revenge on the folks who took advantage of vulnerable people."

May’s phone beeps and she pulls it out to check it. She looks up apologetically. “I have to go, I’m sorry.”

Maria waves her off immediately. “Don't worry about it. It was good to see you.”

“Likewise.” She turns to face Clint. “Nat was a hell of an agent, but she was an even better friend. I’m sorry.”

Clint nods. “Yeah,” he agrees before pausing to clear his throat, “me too. Good seeing you, Mel.”

“Take care of yourself,” May says softly, reaching down to squeeze Clint’s shoulder for a moment. “Both of you,” she adds, turning to face Maria again.

“You too,” Maria replies. “And stay in touch, okay?”

May nods before turning and heading to the door, leaving Clint and Maria alone again.

* * *

They stay there for another hour, swapping stories about Nat from over the years. Eventually they grow silent though, each beginning to feel the true weight of her absence, because it was exactly the kind of thing Nat loved to do in her spare time - shoot the shit with her friends over good drinks, alcoholic or otherwise.

A question that Maria had always wondered about drifts to the surface of her mind. “Can I ask you something?” she asks before she can think better of it.

“You just did,” he says, but the tease lacks any sort of bite - his tone is dull.

She shoots him an unimpressed glare. “It seemed like she healed pretty fast. Not quite as fast as Cap, but I always wondered..." Maria trails off, leaving the thought unspoken.

Clint's eyes meet her gaze. "What?"

Maria hesitates, because it feels almost wrong to be discussing it. It was something Nat clearly held close to her chest and didn't talk about. Yes, she and Nat had been closer than most, but certainly not to the degree of Nat and Clint. What right did she have to ask these kinds of questions about a woman who valued her privacy and anonymity above almost everything else?

"Well, she told us the Red Room was conducting experiments in addition to the training. I always wondered if she had some version of a serum or something. Right before we took down the helicarriers, she shook off a high caliber bullet wound through her shoulder like it was nothing. The next day she was doing hand to hand combat and hanging out of a helicopter like it hadn’t even happened."

Clint sighs. "She never told me but I suspected as much. I don't know if she even knew herself about everything that had been done. She told me she had gaps in her memory from childhood."

"God, those fuckers were something else," Maria says bitterly. What Nat had been through...what she had survived… It was unimaginable. That she could still have the capacity for love and trust after it all was no small miracle.

"Preaching to the choir," Clint agrees with a tense nod.

"They all dead?"

"I think so. She had a list that she worked through, and after Germany she went off the map for a bit. When I heard from her again she said she'd crossed off a few extra names she hadn’t known should’ve been on the list."

"Any way to verify?" Maria asks.

"I can dig through some of our old safehouses and networks - see if she left anything. Why?"

"Seems like the right thing to do," she says. She knew how much Nat hated them, and how much she wanted them to never be able to get it started up again. Not to mention that an organization like that was beyond evil and should never exist. Ever.

Clint nods. "I'll see what I can dig up."

Her phone chimes and she pulls it out to check the message. It’s from Fury, and tells her that her morning off apparently ended at 11. “I have to go,” she says apologetically.

He nods. “Yeah, I should be getting back myself. Got five years’ worth of chores to catch up on at home.”

“Yeah,” Maria answers, unsure of what else to say. She stands up and shrugs on her jacket, slipping her phone back into her pocket.

“Maria,” Clint says abruptly as he stands up, “you should know...you were important to Nat.”

Maria’s heart clenches and she swallows to tamp down the emotions that swell inexplicably at his words.

“I just- I’m sure you knew that. But I thought you should know...you know...for sure,” he says, fumbling through the words. “And I’m sorry you didn’t get to say goodbye,” he adds, gaze rising to meet hers.

“Me too,” she says with a nod. “Listen...I don’t know what Fury’s got cooked up in terms of next steps, and I know you’re retired, but if you ever need anything. Let me know.”

Clint nods. “I will. And you too. I’m retired, but-”

“In the case of potentially universe-ending events we can call you?” she finishes drily, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

He cracks a tired smile. “Yeah.”

“Shoot straight,” she says with a smile, calling back to what she and Nat had always told him before missions.

He smiles, this time a little warmer. “Yeah, you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist having May show up. she's such an intriguing character, and I really think there's probably a lot of shared history between her, Nat, and Clint given their tenures in SHIELD. that and I'm certain she and Nat got along well; they're too alike to not have hit it off as friends. I admittedly played it a bit fast and loose with the timelines for May because I honestly didn't feel like trying to puzzle out the nonsense that was AOS and the MCU timelines...
> 
> I'd forgotten how amusing Maria's character was until I went back to watch a few of her scenes. the sarcasm and wit is just a treat, and I hope that wry humour came across here at least a little.
> 
> as always, any suggestions or ideas for future characters to dive into is welcomed. I do take all of them and put 'em on a list to work on!
> 
> and again - hope everyone's safe and healthy.


	26. That Meal in the Middle of the Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nat and Bruce spend some time chatting as they enjoy a home-cooked meal, and he gets a peek into some of what she's been up to in the years following her death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because I have been woefully remiss on adding content for the Bruce-Natasha friendship, and because I like a challenge. I also tried to keep this one a little lighter, but some angst got in there too (as it always seems to...).
> 
> enjoy.

Bruce frowns as he blinks his eyes open. He's confused by the ringing sound that had woken him up from his impromptu nap until he realizes it sounds remarkably like a phone. It takes him another moment to remember that Tony had given him a phone on his first day in the afterlife, and then mother moment to realize it was _that_ phone that was ringing.

He stumbles up off the couch toward the source of the ringing where his jacket is strewn haphazardly across a chair. He searches clumsily through the jacket's pockets until he finds the phone and sees Nat's photo and name lighting up the screen. He can't help the slight creasing of his brow because even though it's been decades, he knows Nat always used to text before calling.

_How did she even get my number? Tony gave me the phone just a few days ago… _he muses before dismissing the questions immediately because he'd long ago learned not to question Nat's ability to get these kinds of things.

“Hello?” he says after swiping to accept the call.

“Hi, Bruce.” Her voice comes through so bright and cheerful he can't help a smile from spreading. Finding her at the lake by the Compound that first day had been a relief. Seeing her, talking with her, and hugging her had healed a part of his heart he'd long ago resigned to be perpetually scarred. But hearing her so happy and at peace? It warmed his soul, because while those years after their failure in Wakanda had been hard for everyone, they'd been arguably harder for Nat. She'd lost part of her family when she learned the Bartons had been snapped out of existence and Clint lost himself, and then she'd lost the rest of it when he, Tony, Thor, and Cap gave up.

“Hey, Nat.”

There's a familiar chuckle on the other end. “You okay there, Bruce? You sound a little out of breath.”

“Yeah, I'm fine. I was asleep.”

“I didn't mean to wake you.”

“Don't worry about it,” he assures her. “Probably good that I'm up now actually, otherwise I won't sleep later.”

“Well in that case, you're welcome.”

The delivery is so dry, and so _Nat_ that Bruce can't help but chuckle.

“I'll never be able to repay you,” he lobs back.

He'd missed their banter. It had taken a few years, a lot of trust being built between them, some uncomfortable conversations about their failed might-have-been-romance, and his merging with Hulk, but they'd reached a point where they could banter back and forth comfortably. Of course they'd both had the darkness of loss and grief hanging over them, and he'd left her behind eventually when he moved out of the Compound, but the time they did have trading quips had been a small light in their darkened world.

She laughs lightly. “Well actually, I have just the thing.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. Lunch.”

“Lunch?”

“Yeah, you know that meal in the middle of the day?”

He feels the corner of his mouth shift into a crooked grin. “Yes, I know what lunch is, Natasha.”

“Don't you _Natasha_ me,” she warns playfully.

“My bad. You were saying?”

“Right - lunch. I started cooking but have clearly made too much. I figured you're probably still getting the hang of things here, so I thought I'd offer.”

“And I could repay my debt,” he points out cheekily.

She laughs lightly. “Yes, that too.”

“Sure,” he agrees readily. _Anything's better than more takeout,_ he thinks. “Can I bring anything?”

“Just yourself. Come by whenever.”

He glances at his watch. “11:30?” he offers. That would give him enough time to shower and get ready.

“Sure,” she agrees. “I'll see you then.”

* * *

Bruce shifts the flowers in his hands as he looks up at the house. It's got an older looking exterior, but with some modernized features like big, almost oversized windows. He wonders for a moment how a former spy is comfortable with such large sightlines into her house until he realizes it's a house in _the afterlife_. What was there to worry about? But the longer he looks, the more he thinks it fits Nat. She'd always seemed to have one step in the future with Tony, enjoying modern conveniences and technology, and one in the past with Steve, lamenting the bygone days of simplicity and slower daily lives.

Bruce takes a deep breath and walks up the driveway and short walkway to the front porch. He knocks on the door and is surprised when he hears her yell out in response. “Hey, Bruce! Come on in!”

He pauses for a moment because just barging into someone's home, even if they've given you permission, still feels a bit strange. But he does open the door slowly and let himself in. His gaze sweeps over the interior quickly, finding a mix of modern and rustic finishes that seem to match the feel of the exterior.

“Nat?” he calls out unsurely as his gaze roams over the room adjacent to the entryway, filled with a couple comfortable looking couches and some chairs. There's a bunch of pictures of the Avengers, the Bartons, a few of Pepper and Morgan, and a few of people he doesn't recognize.

“Back here,” she answers.

He heads toward the sound of her voice and eventually finds himself in her kitchen, which is outfitted with modern finishes and expensive looking appliances. He can see a few pots on the stove and the counter is covered in dishes and ingredients, but what really hits him are the aromas. They're rich and full-bodied in a way none of his takeout food has been, and are absolutely mouth-watering.

“Hey,” he offers with a crooked smile.

“Hey,” she answers with a bright smile of her own. “Sorry I couldn't let you in, you caught me right in the middle of rolling these out.”

His gaze drops down to find her rolling a thin dough of some kind. “No problem,” he answers. “Smells delicious, whatever it is.”

She chuckles. “Well that's good, otherwise this lunch would be really awkward.”

He grins and then suddenly remembers the flowers in his hands. “Oh, uh, these are for you. I know you said not to bring anything, but I figured I should bring _something_.”

Her smile widens. “Such a gentleman. They're beautiful, thank you. Could I ask you to put them into a vase for me? My hands are-”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” he says quickly.

“There should be an empty one in that cupboard over there,” she says, nodding to her chin to the cupboards behind him.

He turns and opens the cupboard door and points to a slightly ornate looking vase. “This one?”

She glances up from her task. “Yeah, that's fine.”

He nods as he grabs it carefully and then puts the flowers down onto the table before walking over to the sink to fill it with some water. He sniffs the simmering pans on the stove and then peeks over her shoulder as he heads back to the table. “What's for lunch?”

“Pelmeni.”

“Pelmeni?” Bruce repeats, unfamiliar with the dish.

She nods. “It's a Russian dish. Like dumplings. I hope that's okay?”

“Definitely,” he answers with an enthusiastic nod. Tony had shown him the so-called 'essential stop' for cheeseburgers and pointed out his personal favourite places for pizza, Chinese, and sushi on his tour of the afterlife, but Bruce had yet to try out home cooking in the afterlife. “It smells amazing.”

“Thanks,” she says with a warm smile before she looks back down to her hands where she's cutting out small circles in the dough.

“I had no idea you could cook,” he admits apologetically. After they'd hung up, he'd wracked his brain to try and recall a time when she'd cooked but had come up empty. He couldn't even recall a vague reference to her cooking in any conversation before or after her death.

He turns his attention down to the flowers again as he begins to cut the stems according to the directions that came with the bouquet.

“Wasn't really much need to with Tony's binder of takeout menus and caterers,” she explains.

He chuckles. “Yeah, I guess not. Still, I can't believe I didn't know.”

“Well, no one else knew either, so don't feel too bad,” she says with a smile. “Steve was as gobsmacked as you when he found out. And Tony flat out didn't believe me until I put a plate of these in front of him.”

“And let me guess, now you're his favourite takeout place?”

“That's a very polite way of saying he raids my fridge.”

“Of course he does,” Bruce says with a shake of his head.

“At least he's consistent.”

“True.”

They're quiet for a beat, each focused on their individual task. “So...how are you doing?” she asks finally, glancing up from her task for just a moment.

“Still getting the hang of things here. It's nothing like I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

“Well, not this,” he answers while gesturing vaguely around them. “I never really considered the afterlife being a real thing, so this is all…very new.”

“Not even after Thor told us about Valhalla?”

He blinks because no, he hadn't even considered that. Thor had come into their lives and all of a sudden aliens were a thing and they had proof of it. He hadn't stopped to think that Thor's stories of the Asgardian afterlife would have consequences on his own thoughts about life after death.

“You know,” he begins, his own gaze tipping up to watch her hands deftly pinch together the dough and then up to her face where her brow is furrowed ever so slightly in concentration. “I probably should have reevaluated after that, but it didn't occur to me.”

“Me neither,” she replies as she glances up again. He grins a bit sheepishly at being caught staring, but she lets him off the hook with a little smile. “He asked me once about our afterlife. Not long after his mother died. He was completely confounded by the idea that we humans had conflicting theories for it with all the different religions.”

“I wonder if we'll be able to see him when he dies,” Bruce muses as he turns his gaze back down to the flowers.

“I hope so. I didn't exactly get to say goodbye.”

Bruce looks up again to just catch a flicker of sadness in her eyes. He can't imagine the emotional rollercoaster she's been on after losing _everyone_ she cared about in an act she had no way of knowing would even lead them to succeed. Still, she'd reassured him at the lake that she'd made peace with her death and that it was all behind them now.

But then he thinks about how torn up Thor was about her death and he wonders if she knows. “He went to Vormir you know,” he says abruptly, before his mind can censor the thought.

She stops her motions and blinks several times before looking up and meeting his gaze. “What?”

Bruce coughs lightly to clear his throat, because suddenly the emotional charge of the moment is catching up to him. He hadn't meant to steer the conversation to a topic so gloomy, but if she had no idea what had gone on after her death, then she deserved to know that their friend misses her.

“He went to Vormir with Nebula. Wanted to see if there was something there of yours to retrieve. I think he wanted to properly send you off.”

She frowns in confusion. “But the past can't change the-”

“I know,” Bruce interrupts gently. “And I think he knew that too on some level. But he wanted to do right by you. It never sat right with him that we had nothing to bury or burn at your funeral. He was genuinely disheartened that he didn’t find anything at all.”

“I had no idea he cared so much.”

Bruce frowns. “C’mon, Nat. You had to know.”

“No, I really didn’t. He was always so… I don’t know...different.” She pauses briefly before she seems to snap out of her reverie. “Guess it'll probably be awhile before we know if we’ll see him. Asgardians live for thousands of years don't they?”

“Yeah,” Bruce confirms, letting her direct the conversation away. He knows it’s not an easy subject. “Sorry, I didn't mean to bring the mood down.”

“Don't worry about it. Sort of comes with the territory of being dead. You get used to it.”

He eyes her with a doubtful gaze. He's used to her deflecting the significance of things, but this seems like the mother of all deflections.

“Still…”

“Honestly, Bruce. It's fine. It's nice to talk about him, actually.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she confirms. “Speaking of Thor...you want to tell me what happened while you were off planet with him? Because I never got to hear anything more than snippets…”

He recognizes the re-emphasis on a redirection, but he lets it slide. “On Sakaar? Weird place.”

“Well, I got that much from the snippets,” she teases.

He grins. “Okay, first thing's first - time passes very differently there…”

* * *

They'd chatted about his time on Sakaar through the rest of the food prep and then had sat down to lunch at the table once she'd finished cooking not long after.

“This looks amazing, Nat. Really. I've been living off takeout food since I got here.”

“I assumed Tony had told you how food worked around here. Sorry, I should have explained when I gave you my tour.”

“Just means I'm going to enjoy this that much more,” he says as he gestures to his plate.

“Well, here's hoping it's everything you've dreamed of.”

He takes a bite. “Oh, it definitely is,” he says, eyes closing momentarily in pure joy. The flavours dance on his tongue and he can't believe she'd held out on ever making this for the team.

She chuckles as she begins to dig into her own plate.

“So, what about you?” he asks. “How've you been up here?”

“Up here?” she repeats as one brow arches teasingly.

“You know what I mean,” he grumbles light-heartedly.

Her smile widens for a moment before she begins speaking. “I've been alright. Stayed at the Compound at first before I found this place and started fixing it up.”

“You fix houses now? That's quite the career change.”

She laughs. “No, no, just this one - I'm definitely not skilled enough to do it for a living. And thankfully there isn't much use for assassins, spies, or Avengers here, so I'm happily retired.”

He realizes what a relief it must be for her to not have that weight of innocent people's lives on her shoulders. She seems genuinely grateful it's no longer required of her to be a hero.

“No, I wouldn't think so,” he agrees.

“Tony, Phil, and Steve helped me with some stuff, but most of it I learned myself.”

He looks around at the impressive finishes and wonders how long it took her to complete everything. “Was it in rough shape to begin with?”

She nods. “I believe Tony officially classified it as a dump.”

He looks around again, unable to picture it as anything but impeccably finished. “Really?”

“Yep. The main structure was mostly intact, but most of the main plumbing and wiring was missing, as well all the drywall.”

“And you took that on?”

She shrugs and smiles. “I hadn't realized until I walked in, but it felt like home in a way that nowhere ever had before.”

“I'm glad you found it,” he says as he holds her gaze. It's so much more than just the house. He knows it's peace and happiness she's found here too.

“Me too.”

“Must've taken a long time to get it all finished.”

“It did,” she nods. “But I didn't have a deadline, so there was no rush. It was relaxing, actually. Made me understand why Clint kept picking projects to work on at the farm.”

He chuckles.

“How's your place?” she asks.

“Perfect, like everything else here. It's throwing me off a little - no garbage, pollution, or decay... it's just weird.

“Yeah, it is. But there are pieces here and there that aren't perfect. You just have to look for them.”

He nods as he considers her words.

“So...tell me more about your place,” she prompts.

“It's a sort of loft in the city, but in a quieter part. Tall ceilings, and walls filled with books.”

“A nerd's dream.”

He shoots her a scolding look. “You want to hear the rest or not?”

“I'm sorry,” she apologizes with a grin, “go on.”

“It's a little messy, but not in an overwhelming way, and I somehow seem to know where everything is.”

She nods, confirming his suspicions that it wasn't just a fluke - that was actually how things worked here.

“It's stocked with the tea I like, but not much in the way of actual food.”

“Probably because you needed to get out of there and explore.”

Bruce frowns and she tilts her head before beginning to explain. “This place has a way of knowing what you need. Sometimes food will stock up in your fridge and cupboards, and sometimes you have to go get it. When it's not there and you have to go get it, you usually realize after that getting out of your place was a good thing.”

He rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Fascinating.”

She chuckles. “Trust me, don't try to analyze it further. Just accept the magical explanation.”

He laughs. “You know, I've just about had my fill of magical things.”

“Then I guess it's a good thing this is a new life and therefore you start over with a fresh threshold for these things.”

“I guess so,” he agrees with a grin. “So has Tony driven you crazy yet?”

Nat smiles as she leans back in her chair. “We spent a lot of time together at first and I kept waiting for it to get on my nerves, but I was grateful for his company. Even with all his quirks, it was nice to have him around, you know?”

Bruce nods as he considers the fact that she hadn't really had anyone besides Tony. He figures maybe Phil Coulson had been here for her then too, but the bulk of the people she cared about and considered family she'd left behind. _That can't have been easy,_ he thinks sadly.

“I was heartbroken when he showed up. I was supposed to be the only one here, and he was supposed to live out his life with Pepper and Morgan.” She pauses for a beat, her expression thoughtful. “But...selfishly I was relieved to have a friend here.”

He nods because he gets it. He'd spent enough time alone in his life to understand that even for a lone wolf like Natasha, having some people was important.

“And Tony was…” she trails off momentarily as she searches for the right description, “everything I didn't realize I'd needed.”

“Yeah, he tends to be that,” Bruce agrees, remembering how many times Tony had dragged him out of the lab for some takeout or coffee, or dragged him _into_ the lab to get his mind off things. He'd been a good friend, even with their near constant arguing and his constant needling and quips.

“He's got a good heart that one, irritating as he may be most of the time.”

Bruce laughs. “At least you can handle him. Some of us were left to the mercy of his whims.”

She grins. “Perk of my training, I suppose. Though he cries foul now when he realizes I've handled him. Which, as you can imagine, is a bit much at times.”

“Oh, yeah, I don't envy you that,” he agrees with a nod. He hadn't forgotten how Tony could get.

“But believe it or not, not long after he got here he actually was keen to have some hard conversations.”

Bruce’s brows rise in surprise. “Tony? Tony Stark? Having a hard conversation by choice?”

She flashes a fleeting smile. “Yeah, I know. I was as surprised as you. But this place...it changes you. Or maybe it’s dying that does that, I don’t know.”

He can’t help but wonder what it changed about her.

“But whatever it is, it made him dredge up regrets and apologize for things I’d thought he had long since forgotten.” She pauses thoughtfully for a beat. “He’s been a really good friend.”

“You both seem more relaxed,” Bruce offers.

“Well, knowing you can go to bed without worrying that someone’s going to try and kill you in your sleep does wonders for your stress levels.”

He’s stunned into silence momentarily. “Yeah,” he croaks, shocked by her blasé reply, “I’d imagine it would.”

“It took a little while to settle in here and sort through...things, but once I did...I really started sleeping well,” she says thoughtfully, almost as though the thought was just occurring to her for the first time. “I didn't realize it right away, but that first night after I was settled in was the first time I could remember sleeping well.”

“Ever?” he can't help the shock from seeping into his tone as the realization reverberates through him. It makes sense, of course. She’d lived through hell, made a lot of enemies, defected, made some more enemies, battled evil people and then monsters and aliens, and failed to save the earth from the most catastrophic event the universe had ever seen. You don’t live that kind of life without things haunting you, people hunting you, and nightmares plaguing you.

She nods, and he's a little surprised to see no trace of embarrassment in her expression. Once upon a time she would've held that information close to her chest and locked it up tight.

“Well, “ he says, realizing they’ve both lapsed into silence, “you look great. “

“You don’t look too shabby yourself,” she says with a smile. And just like that they're back into their easy, teasing banter.

“You want some more?” she offers.

He glances down in surprise because he hadn't even realized he'd finished his plate.

“I'll take that as a yes,” she says, rising to her feet and grabbing his plate.

He watches her movements, noticing again how relaxed she is and he's struck by how this is something he'd never_, ever_ considered for either of them. The circumstances are far from what he'd ever had wanted for them to achieve this peace, but if it's what they got, he'd take it.

She seems to feel his scrutiny and she pauses her action of refilling his plate to look up and meet his gaze. Her brow furrows for a brief second, as though she's trying to puzzle out why he's staring, before it relaxes and she flashes him a wide smile. It's genuine, relaxed, and as close to carefree as he supposes Nat will ever get. He returns the smile and she looks back down as she resumes her task.

Somehow, some way, after the life she'd lived, fraught with pain and nightmares, she was at peace. She was happy.

So yeah, if this was what they got, then he'd take it for sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to have Bruce be less awkward and a bit more confident because I suspect the time after the successful merge with Hulk meant he had a bit more gravitas than before.
> 
> As always - your thoughts, feedback, and suggestions/ideas are welcomed.
> 
> I hope you all are staying safe and are well.


	27. Nachos Don't Count

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky crash Natasha's evening, and Bucky gets to try some of Nat's cooking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> folks, I think I finally did it. I think I finally wrote a chapter that's happier than it is angsty. ;)
> 
> been busy writing lately...even posted a new one shot that was actually intended to be a chapter in this one, but ended up not fitting. check it out if that intrigues you. we're continuing with the food (and Nat cooking, for that matter) theme here.
> 
> hope y'all are staying safe. enjoy.

“We coulda just called her, Steve. Or texted.”

Steve tilts his head slightly as he rolls his eyes. Bucky wonders if that's a habit he picked up from Stark, who seemed to favour it. “It's fine, relax.”

“I'm just saying,” Bucky says while gesturing with his hands, “woulda been more polite. You don't just drop in on a girl with no warning.”

“Consider it payback then.”

Bucky frowns. “Payback?”

“She used to sneak into my apartment all the time. I'd come home after a long day and she'd be there sitting on my couch, eating my food, feet up on my coffee table as she watched TV.”

Bucky grins widely before a laugh escapes. “Damn.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, shooting a look sideways at Bucky while he knocks on Natasha's door. “So I don't feel the least bit guilty about dropping by and  _ knocking _ .”

“Grudges don't look good on you, Steve,” Bucky teases.

The door opens then, ending their banter. Bucky watches Natasha's gaze shift from Steve to himself before she smiles.

“We really need to stop meeting like this,” she remarks drily. “Don't tell me he's drunk already. It's barely 5:30.”

Bucky stifles a laugh as Steve's gaze narrows. “Hilarious. One time, and you never stop giving me shit about it.”

“Language, Captain!” she chides with a smirk.

Steve just groans.

“I'm getting the feeling there's a story there,” Bucky says as he looks back and forth between the two of them. Both their reactions confirm his suspicion. “Oh, I'm definitely gonna need to hear that one at some point,” he adds as he meets her gaze.

She winks and mouths “later” to him.

“I'm right here, Nat,” Steve points out.

“Yeah,” she drawls, as she leans her shoulder onto the doorframe and crosses her arms over her chest, “but you haven't explained why yet.”

“We-” Steve begins.

“Hey, what's with the 'we'?” Bucky protests immediately. “I was in favour of texting or calling, like a normal person. Don't rope me into your crazy plan.”

“ **We** ,” Steve repeats, shooting Bucky a look, “were wondering if you wanted to join us for a drink.”

She grins, clearly amused. “Have you eaten yet?”

Steve shakes his head.

“Then no.”

Steve's expression falls immediately. “No?”

“I've seen the outcome of you drinking on an empty stomach, and I'm not keen to repeat it. Food first. Then drinks.”

Bucky watches as Steve's expression brightens again immediately. “We can do that,” he agrees enthusiastically. “You got a place in mind?”

“Greek?” she offers.

Steve considers it. “You thinking Nefeli's?” he asks, and she hums in agreement. “Yeah, I could do that. Buck, you good with that?”

He shrugs. “If it's good food, I'm in.”

He's never been particularly picky with food, aside from generally not having much exposure to spicy food. A lot of his diet as the soldier had been protein bars and nutrition packets they provided. And then while working with Sam it had been a lot of pizza, steaks, and pasta, but they'd eaten some more exotic food from time to time. Sam was always the more adventurous of the two of them though. 

Steve's eyes light up suddenly and he turns back to face Nat again. “Or…” he starts slowly.

Bucky frowns gently because he knows that look; he'd been on the receiving end countless times throughout their childhoods. That look means Steve is going to try and convince her to do something she likely isn't keen to do. 

It takes her less than a second to connect the dots. “No,” she says firmly as she pushes off the door frame to stand up straight, arms coming down to her sides.

“I mean, we have a very capable chef right here in front of us,” he continues, undeterred.

“I'm not a chef,” she retorts, pointing a finger at him in an arguably slightly menacing manner. Bucky suspects if he hadn't known her for years, Steve would have relented then, if not long before.

“It would be a shame to let that talent go to waste.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere with me, Rogers. You know that.”

“We could swing by the store and grab whatever you need…”

She sighs heavily, and Bucky knows then that the once famed Black Widow's resolve has begun to crumble.

“C'mon, Nat,” Steve says, going in for the final blow. “Buck hasn't had your cooking yet.”

“Actually, we made nachos the first night you got drunk,” Bucky points out. He feels an odd urge to provide her some support because they had clearly interrupted whatever plans she'd had for the evening. And who were they to demand she cook for them anyway?

Steve turns and shoots him a look that clearly asked why Bucky was undermining his efforts. “Nachos do not count as Nat's cooking. Believe me.”

“Hey, they were pretty good nachos,” he argues, flashing a trademark Bucky Barnes shit-eating grin at him, “and besides, if the lady doesn't want to cook, she doesn't have to.”

“When did you become the responsible one in this friendship?”

Bucky laughs. “I've  _ always _ been the responsible one, pal. Let's not forget who was willing to break the law to get the okay to join the army.”

“That's got nothing to do with being responsible.”

“Yeah, because signing up to let scientists do an experiment on you is totally a responsible thing to do,” Bucky retorts before dodging the swat from Steve.

“It was one scientist,” Steve argues, holding up a single finger. “One.”

“You told me Howard was there too.”

“He's not a scientist, he's an engineer.”

“Ahem.” The cough draws their attention back to the redhead. “Are you two done?”

They both grin sheepishly.

“Sorry,” Bucky apologizes, finding his voice first. “I meant what I said though. If you don't want to cook, we can go out somewhere. Don't let this idiot try to guilt you into anything.”

She eyes them both with a narrowed gaze. “First of all, Steve has never guilted me into doing  _ anything _ .”

Bucky grins at her dry delivery and the deliberate pause that follows. “Second...fine we can eat here. But I’m not cooking.  _ We’re _ cooking,” she says, twirling her finger around to point to everyone.

“No problem,” Steve promises. “We’re happy to help, right Buck?” he adds while throwing another quick look over to Bucky that is clearly an 'agree with me, right now' look.

“Right, yeah,” Bucky says with a nod. “Of course.”

“Yeah, yeah. Now get in here so I can make a list.”

“What're we having?” Bucky asks as they follow her into her house. Steve had mentioned once or twice that she liked to cook and was pretty good at it, but he never said  _ what _ she made. He guessed Russian, for obvious reasons.

She leads them to the back of the house and into the kitchen. “I'm thinking paella.”

Bucky frowns. “Paella?”

“It's a Spanish dish,” she explains.

“Don't worry, Buck. It's delicious. You'll love it.”

He shrugs. “I'm game for anything.”

Nat smiles. “Okay, paella it is.” She glances in her fridge and a few cupboards before pausing to scribble down a list and hand it to Steve.

“We'll be back in 30,” Steve promises.

“Oh no,  _ you're  _ getting the groceries,” she says pointing at him for emphasis. “We're going to start the prep,” she finishes, pointing between herself and Bucky.

Steve frowns for a second, and Bucky figures he's maybe wondering if leaving them alone together is a good idea. He doesn't blame him for the thought - he and Nat haven't really interacted much beyond that night they shared nachos not too long ago. Though to be fair, they had covered a lot of ground that night.

“Get going, Rogers,” she commands before shoving him out of the kitchen, much to Bucky's amusement.

“Alright, alright,” Steve says, holding up his hands in a calming gesture as he backs up out of the kitchen before turning around and heading toward the front door.

They hear the door slam shut and then Bucky turns to face Nat. “I'm afraid to ask how much prep there is for this…”

Her grin is as wide as a cat that's caught the canary. “Actually, not that much, and we can't do anything for the paella until he's back. I just wanted some payback for him barging in and expecting me to cook.”

Suddenly Bucky is worried they'd overstepped. “I tried to talk him outta it, but he insisted. And you know how he gets.”

She waves off his worry. “Don't worry, it's fine. I don't mind. But he's gotta work for it a bit, you know?”

Bucky chuckles and nods.

“Since we're here, we could make some bread if you wanted.”

His brows rise. “That's ambitious,” he says, vague recollections fading into his mind of how much work bread was to make.

“This bread's actually pretty easy.”

“Says the one with cooking skills Steve apparently reveres.”

She laughs. “Misplaced, I assure you.”

“The nachos say otherwise,” he retorts with a wink.

“Careful,” she warns, “you haven't had any actual food that I've cooked.”

“I've heard Steve's stories. That's enough.”

She shakes her head. “Okay, enough stalling, Barnes. Let's get started on this dough.”

* * *

Bucky was surprised to learn that she hadn't been kidding about the bread not being too difficult. He'd actually done a good chunk of the work mixing together the dough under her careful direction. He'd enjoyed the feel of the dough in his left hand more than he'd ever admit and had appreciated that she'd let him take care of the kneading and mixing.

With the dough sitting on the counter and no further work to do until Steve got back, they'd settled onto one of the couches in the room at the front of the house with some snacks and a couple of beers.

“So, about that whole “language” thing earlier…” he prompts, using air quotes.

“Right. So, we were taking on some Hydra goons, and Tony was trying to find a way into the fortress but wasn't having much luck,” she begins explaining.

“So he eventually throws out a “shit” in frustration and without missing a beat, Steve hops onto comms to chastise him with a “language” in his best disappointed-in-you tone.”

“He did not,” Bucky says incredulously.  _ Talk about a goody-two shoes _ .

“He did,” she confirms solemnly. “He said it just slipped out.”

Bucky's brow arches doubtfully. “I'm sure it did.”

Nat laughs. “Don't worry, we all teased him about it for months.”

“Good. Punk deserves it.”

He lets the silence linger for a beat as he takes in the joy and amusement twinkling in her eyes. He wonders then if she misses it, because he knows better than most the struggle to reconcile that the times that were filled with burgeoning friendships and bonds to last a lifetime were also filled with such violence.

“Do you miss it?” he asks, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Her brow crinkles in a gentle frown. “Miss what?” she asks before taking a long drink from her beer.

“The team. Fighting together.”

“Sometimes,” she admits. She pauses, but Bucky knows she has more to say and stays quiet to let her collect her thoughts, tipping his bottle back for a long drink. “We were probably at our best then. Politics hadn't run right through the middle of us, Tony didn't have a massive weight of a guilty conscience on his chest, and he and Steve hadn't come to blows yet.”

_ Yeah, blows over  _ ** _me_ ** _ , _ he thinks bitterly. “Well, from what I remember and what Sam told me, you all were quite a force to be reckoned with.”

“Well, we were motivated, that's for sure. The sceptre we'd secured after the New York invasion had fallen through the cracks with the whole Hydra situation. We knew it was dangerous in the wrong hands and we had to get it back.”

“So you went on the offensive,” he says knowingly.

She nods. “Yeah. But despite that it had gone missing, our spirits were high. The banter on comms was always entertaining.”

“With Stark around, I'll bet. That guy is a walking pop culture reference machine.”

“Yeah, he does like his references, that's for sure.” It's her turn to pause for a beat and he can feel the shift in the vibe of the conversation. “Things went downhill after that though. Seemed to be one thing after another, and eventually it snowballed to a point where we were almost fractured beyond repair.”

Bucky nods because he knows what she's talking about. Steve and Sam filled in some gaps from when he was recovering in Wakanda, and then Steve filled in some more from when he was dust.

“You all came together in the end,” he offers, but he knows it's a poor consolation. She'd wanted the team... _ her family _ ...to be back together, and she'd laid down her life for them, never again getting to be with them all.

“Yeah,” she says, and he can tell it's still a sore subject, even all this time later. They both take another drink from their beers. “Do you miss the time with the Howling Commandos?”

He rubs his chin thoughtfully as he considers her question. “Sometimes,” he says with a nod.  _ Probably the same way she misses her team _ , he thinks. Clearly they have more in common than he had realized. “I mean, the war was...awful. And unlike Steve I wasn't real keen on going in the first place, but once he came along and the Commandos got started up...there were some good times, yeah.”

“Shenanigans, I assume?”

He barks out a light laugh. “Yeah, we had some good pranks going back and forth. But mostly I miss the camaraderie, you know?”

She nods and hums in agreement. “I imagine you've got some of that back now though. Steve mentioned you guys meet up sometimes for drinks.”

“Yeah,” he hedges because it's nice to see them all, but it feels different.

“Just not quite the same?” she guesses, and he wonders if she's always been this good at reading people.  _ Of course she has, _ his mind supplies immediately,  _ she was trained in it since she was a kid. _

“No, not quite,” he agrees. “I suppose that's to be expected though, since there isn't an international conflict threatening to end mankind.”

“I know the feeling.” And he realizes that she does indeed know it, maybe even better than him.

Another thought occurs to him. “You know, it's too bad you and I didn't get to team up. The Winter Soldier and the Black Widow would've scared the shit outta those Hydra assholes.”

She laughs. “I'm not certain our styles would really mesh in the way you're thinking.”

“How d'ya figure?”

“If Steve's tales and the scar on my stomach are to be believed you're quite the marksman. I tended to operate in a more up close and personal kind of way.”

He can't help the grimace at her casual mention of the scar he'd given her. He didn't remember everything from his time as the soldier, but he remembered most of that particular mission.

“Don't,” she scolds softly, knowing exactly where his mind had gone. “We're way past that.”

He offers an apologetic half-smile at being caught. “Weren't you partnered with a guy called Hawkeye? I think that implies the long-distance and Black Widow styles mesh well enough.”

She grins sheepishly. “Yeah, okay. You got me there,” she admits before tipping her bottle back to finish her beer.

“Besides, I'm no slouch up close. You saw me fight Steve hand to hand. You had to shoot a grenade at me to get rid of me,” he offers cheekily.

“Oh, now I  _ have to _ get you on the mat at the gym,” she says, referencing their chat over nachos a few nights previous.

“Is that a challenge, Romanoff?”

“You bet your ass it is, Barnes.”

“Well fine, but I'll be at a bit of a disadvantage,” he says as he holds up his left arm and points to it.

She rolls her eyes. “Already with the excuses.”

“I'm just saying it'll take some time getting used to,” he defends.

“Yeah, it's totally unfair that we'll both have the same number of regular limbs,” she drawls drily.

He opens his mouth to retort, but the door opening silences him. Steve spots them immediately and Bucky knows it probably doesn't look good, the two of them reclining on the couch with beers in hand.

“Really?” Steve says, disappointment bleeding into his tone.

Nat just laughs, clearly unapologetic about the whole situation. “What? We finished our work and were just waiting for you to get back.”

“Yeah, Nat was telling me some stories about the Avengers from back in the day.”

“Oh, I'm sure she was,” Steve says with a shake of his head as he walks toward the kitchen. They both hop up off the couch to follow close behind. “Just remember that I’ve got a few stories about both of you I could share.”

Nat dismisses the threat with an arched eyebrow that Bucky can read easily as a ‘go ahead, I dare you’ invitation before she slips past Steve and begins digging through the bags he’d set down on the counter. “Oh, this chicken looks amazing,” she says as she pulls it out of the bag and eyes it appraisingly.

Bucky laughs and she turns to face him with an accusing frown for an expression. Why Steve wasn’t  _ also _ laughing was beyond him - she was complimenting a  _ chicken  _ for god’s sake.

“What? It's funny to hear someone say a chicken looks amazing,” he explains before shrugging and finishing off his beer.

“Keep that up and the meal will just be for us,” she warns playfully, gesturing between herself and Steve.

Bucky nods solemnly with his hands held up in innocence.

“Okay, Steve, can you get the sausage out of the casings and chop it up along with the chicken?”

“Sure,” Steve says with a nod as he begins to pull out some cutting boards and a set of expensive looking knives from a drawer. It doesn't escape Bucky that his best friend seems to be very comfortable in her kitchen. He figures it's a safe bet that they've cooked together before and he makes a mental note to ask Steve about it later. And then he makes a second mental note to make sure to _ utilize _ their collective skill in the kitchen to his advantage more often.

Steve hands him a cutting board and slides a knife over to him that he picks up and admires. It's sharp, well cared for, and clearly of a high quality.

“Careful with that, James,” she warns with a mischievous smile. “Little different than a throwing knife.”

Steve looks up in confusion. “James? Since when is he James?”

“That's his name, isn't it?” Nat says, crossing her arms as she leans her hip against the counter beside Steve.

“Well, yeah, but only his ma calls him that.”

Nat shrugs. “And now I do too. Honestly “Bucky” is just so...juvenile.”

Bucky laughs. “I don't mind, Steve. We hashed it out when you were passed out drunk.”

“What else did I miss that night?” he asks, his expression a mix of confusion and worry as his gaze begins shifting between his two friends.

Nat chuckles. “Oh, many things, but I think they'll stay between James and I,” she says, practically purring. Bucky coughs to stifle his laughter because he knows she's winding up Steve. Despite how obvious she is, judging by how uncomfortable he looks, it's definitely working.

Steve's eyes widen and he quickly looks back down to the chicken on the cutting board in front of him. He starts cutting it up methodically, with a laser-eyed focus.

Nat looks over at Bucky and winks, and he coughs again to cover his laugh. “So, what am I doing with this?” he asks, brandishing the knife. “Besides being careful that is,” he adds with a wink of his own.

“Veggies,” she instructs, pushing them toward him. “We need the onions and peppers finely chopped.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he says dutifully and pulls the vegetables toward him.

They fall into silence, with only the sounds of the knives chopping filling the air. There's a slight ring of metal as Nat takes out a saucepan and another much larger pan that she puts aside, and then the sound of some liquid being poured as she fills the saucepan and sets it on the stove. They all stay quietly focused on their tasks, and Bucky finds himself revelling in this domestic scene, because it’s not something he’s seen anything like since he was a kid.

“More fine,” Nat says softly, interrupting his reverie as she appears right beside him. Her kitchen is fairly large, but with the three of them it's a bit crowded, so she's close enough that their elbows are touching.

He looks down at the onions and peppers he's been cutting up and then back up at her. “Smaller?

“Like this,” she says, reaching over to take the knife from him and then leaning over to begin to slice the onions more delicately. He watches her movements and he's struck for a moment by how graceful they are until he remembers she'd probably had a knife in her hand before a spoon or a fork. “Got it?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he says softly with a nod, accepting the knife she's holding back out to him.

“Steve, you ready with that meat? I need to brown it,” she says, giving Bucky's forearm a quick squeeze as she smiles and then turns back to the stove.

“Yeah, just finishing the sausage. Give me thirty seconds,” he answers without turning around, completely oblivious to their actions.

“I'm holding you to that, old man,” she teases.

“Always with the jokes, Romanoff. Tony's been a bad influence on you,” he retorts, this time turning and pointing at her with his knife.

“Why do you assume he influenced me? Maybe it was the other way around.”

Bucky figures she might have a point. She'd made a career out of manipulating marks after all. But then again, this  _ was _ Stark they were talking about…

“And besides,” she adds, “I like to think I was a bad influence on you too.”

* * *

They'd finished their prep work and then he and Steve had mostly watched as Natasha brought it all together in a massive pan, throwing a myriad of spices and flavours on top of the rice, vegetables, and meat. The smell was intoxicating and when she pulled the fresh bread from the oven, Bucky realized exactly how hungry he actually was.

“Can you guys grab the plates?” she asks, pausing her stirring of the paella to point to a cupboard behind her.

“No problem,” Bucky says with a nod. She'd done most of the heavy lifting in terms of the cooking and they'd barged in on her evening. Setting the table seemed like the least they could do.

“There's more beer in the fridge if you want. Otherwise there's some bottles of wine over there.”

“What I'm getting from that is we don't even have to go out for drinks after dinner,” Steve says.

Bucky stops his motion of putting down a plate to stare at his friend. He's absolutely gobsmacked by his boldness and his eyes slide over to Natasha to watch her response to Steve's cheekiness.

Nat turns and raises an eyebrow. “You’re pushing your luck, Rogers,” she warns, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Just like you taught me to,” he counters, undeterred. Bucky can't help but smile, because he's clearly a long way from the scrawny, slightly bashful, innocent Steve he'd known growing up.

“I knew that would bite me in the ass one day,” she remarks drily.

Bucky watches their back and forth exchange with an amused expression. It was clear the two of them had spent a lot of time together over the years, and that they'd grown incredibly close. He’d seen a glimpse of it when she let them go in Germany. She and Steve hadn’t said much to each in that exchange, but the body language and facial expressions had said a hell of a lot more. He’d seen it again when she and Steve walked out of the jet in Wakanda before the battle - she’d been right at his side and it was clear they trusted each other implicitly. And of course he’d heard about it from Sam in the stories he told about their time together on the run. 

“Quit being a punk and help me out, woulda ya?” Bucky says, cutting off whatever Steve's retort was going to be.

Steve laughs but acquiesces immediately and begins to grab cutlery.

“Good to see he listens to one of us at least,” Nat says with a breathy laugh.

“I heard that, Romanoff,” Steve warns playfully.

“You want another beer?” he offers, leaning up against the counter right beside her.

She turns her head and smiles gratefully. “Actually, I'd love a red wine.”

“Any one I should look for in particular?” he asks. He tends to prefer beer or a good whiskey himself, but he knows enough about wine to know that some pair better with certain foods than others.

“Surprise me,” she says with another smile.

“You got it, doll,” he says, pushing off the counter and snagging a glass from the cupboard before heading over to the other side of the kitchen where he'd seen a few bottles. He eyes the labels for a moment before opting to go with a merlot.

“Corkscrew?” he asks as he glances back at her.

“Should be in the drawer,” she answers without turning around.

He finds it in the drawer directly under where the wine bottles are, opens the selected bottle, and pours a little into the glass. He walks back over to her and offers her the glass.

She looks up and snorts in amusement at his action. She takes the glass, swirls around it a bit and then takes a sip. “Acceptable, monsieur” she quips with a nod, a smile threatening to spread as she hands him the glass back.

He grins widely and turns around to go and fill the glass.

“Since when are you a wine connoisseur, Buck?” Steve asks, having apparently watched the whole exchange.

“Hey, unlike some of us here who like to badger the chef, I'm cultured,” he argues as he finishes filling her glass and walks back over to offer her the glass again.

“We're ready here,” she announces before taking a drink from the glass and setting it down. “Can you bring the bread over, James?”

He nods, watching as she grabs the large pan's handles with gloved hands and then carries the whole thing over to the table and sets it down. He grabs the bread and then her glass, carrying them both over to the table.

“That smells amazing, Nat,” Steve says, leaning in and sniffing appreciatively.

“Hopefully it tastes good,” she quips as she sits down and leans back in her chair.

“Your wine, mademoiselle,” Bucky says with a wink, putting the glass in front of her before setting down the bread.

She grins at him and takes another sip. “You chose well, James.”

“It's your wine,” he points out with a grin as he takes a seat across from her.

She laughs. “Fair point. But enough talk. Let's eat.”

* * *

They'd spent an hour and a half leisurely eating, drinking, and chatting. Nat and Steve had kept up their friendly banter, and Bucky had heard more than a few stories about them both from over the years. She'd asked questions about them growing up, and Bucky had been keen to learn about Steve's first few years out of the ice.

By the time the pan was just about empty and the bread long since finished, all three of them were less than motivated to go out. Not to mention, they were all just a little bit  _ relaxed _ thanks to the multiple glasses of wine, and many bottles of beer they'd gone through.

“So, to be honest-” Steve begins.

“I thought you were always honest,” Nat interrupts with a cheeky grin.

He shoots her a look before continuing. “I ate too much and now I don't really want to move.”

Nat chuckles. “You know, I remember a time when we would eat and everyone would feel that way except you. You'd just keep eating and the rest of us would hate you for it because we all felt a bit sick at the mere thought.”

“Yeah, well, now I know why you guys always gave me dirty looks.”

“We can stay here,” Nat offers. “Watch a movie or something.”

“Movie sounds good to me,” Bucky offers.

“What'd'ya wanna watch?” Steve asks.

Bucky shrugs. “I don't really care.”

“Nat?”

She shrugs. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

“So helpful,” Steve grumbles.

“Just pick something, Rogers,” Nat retorts. “I cooked and provided the venue.”

“Alright, alright,” he says as his brow scrunches in thought. “If we watch a spy thriller, are you two going to ruin the movie for me by critiquing it?”

Bucky and Nat both laugh. “I make no promises,” Bucky answers. Sam had always gotten frustrated with him for pointing out inaccuracies, but Bucky had found it hilarious.

“Don't look at me. I can suspend judgment and be entertained,” Nat says when both their gazes shift onto her.

“But you and Clint used to do that thing,” Steve says.

Her brow arches. “Thing?”

“Yeah, on movie nights at the tower. You'd mutter to each other during the movie and I coulda sworn you were saying the names of countries and cities, but that didn't make much sense.”

“It  _ was _ cities and countries,” she confirms with a fond smile. Bucky and Steve both frown and prompt her to explain. “We used to name off cities or countries of missions we'd had where whatever ridiculous maneuver the character in the movie did would've been helpful.”

“Oh, we're definitely going to watch a spy thriller,” Steve declares, “and we're gonna pause every time you think of a story, because we didn't get nearly enough stories about SHIELD Agents Barton and Romanoff from back in the day. And even now I barely know anything.”

Nat chuckles. “If you really want, then sure. I've got a few I can share.”

“Budapest?” Steve asks hopefully. Bucky’s interest piques, because clearly there’s some sort of significance to it but he can’t recall ever hearing anything about it.

She’s quiet for a beat longer than usual. “I think that one is gonna stay between me and Clint.”

Steve's expression falls. “I'm never gonna know what happened there, am I?”

She smiles and Bucky thinks that it looks just a touch sad. “A girl needs to have her secrets,” she quips to cover up the emotion.

The humour does its job and Steve’s attention is drawn off her hesitation and into his own pouting that makes Bucky shake his head. “Go find the movie, you two. I'll clean up a bit here,” Bucky offers.

Steve hops up immediately and begins walking to the other room, oblivious to Nat remaining in her seat.

“Let me give you a hand,” she offers.

“My ma would sock me one if she knew I'd made you clean up after cooking for me.”

Natasha smiles and Bucky is struck by how warm an expression it is. Even after all the years she had around her friends and family, it's clear that she's not totally used to nice things being done for her. He gets it because he's the same way.

“Can I at least sit here and finish my wine?” she asks drily.

Bucky rolls his eyes before grinning. “Only if you want. I'm sure the couch is more comfortable.”

“True, but then I have to put up with pleasantly buzzed Steve. And you know how he gets.”

Bucky laughs as he begins stacking the plates and collecting the cutlery from the table. “Yeah, that's a fair point.”

They’re both quiet for a few moments before she breaks the silence. “So, what’d you think of paella?” she asks as she pushes her chair back and kicks her feet up onto the corner of the table. “And be honest, I’ll know if you’re lying,” she warns with a smile that’s just a little bit intimidating, even to the former Winter Soldier. Sam and Steve hadn’t been kidding when they said she was formidable.

“It was really good,” he answers honestly. “Not really what I was expecting, but it was delicious.”

“Good,” Nat hums before taking another sip of wine. She eyes him lazily as he begins to load the dishes into the dishwasher, but he doesn’t doubt she’s clocking every minute facial expression she can see. Old habits, and all that. “You know, if you ever want to cook some more...we could do that.”

He takes care to keep his movements continuous, but he’s reeling a bit in shock. Natasha was  _ Steve’s _ friend. Sure, she was polite and probably understood him better than anyone else he knew, but surely she was just being nice… Right?

“Oh dear, I’ve spooked him,” she drawls, and he looks up to find her expression is pure amusement.

“What?” he replies with a frown before his mind can connect the dots - he’d been quiet for a beat too long, which had tipped her off.

She chuckles. “I didn’t mean anything by it, James. I just...I got the feeling from our last conversation that you hadn’t ever been overly adventurous with food. And judging by how well received tonight’s food was, I thought maybe you’d like to expand your repertoire a little. I happen to have a fairly wide-ranging recipe book.”

“Oh, uh,” he stammers, unsure as to why he was absolutely fumbling for words now suddenly, “yeah. I mean, if you don’t mind.”

“Well I did offer...” she replies with a tilt of her head and a smile that’s completely disarming.

“Right. Of course,” he says, cursing himself internally at the sheer stupidity of the response. “Yeah, I, uh, I’d like that.”

“Don’t worry, James,” she soothes him, a touch of playfulness in her tone still. He’s restarted his action of loading the dishes into the dishwasher, but he still watches as she finishes the rest of her wine and gets up to bring him the glass. “I don’t bite,” she teases with another of those smiles as she leans in close and hands him the glass.

Finally his brain kicks in and the corner of his mouth kicks up in a crooked grin as some of his swagger returns, allowing him to volley her flirty teasing right back. “Well that’s a shame.”

He sees her eyes widen briefly in surprise. She recovers quickly though. “Oh, you’re much more fun to play with than Steve.”

He grins _ ,  _ because two can play at that game. _ Yeah,  _ he thinks, _ this is gonna be fun _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so...did I succeed? more happiness than angst, right?! :)
> 
> let me know. and of course let me know any other thoughts you might have, or suggestions. thanks to everyone who leaves their comments and those that have left kudos - this writer appreciates the love.
> 
> believe it or not, this whole chapter came from the idea of Clint and Nat muttering to each other during movies. I tried every which way I could think of to write from Tony's perspective about it, and then I tried Clint's, and Steve's, and Bruce's. somehow I ended up going with a mostly food-based chapter from the perspective of Bucky (ahem, James). go figure.


	28. I've Heard A Lot About You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy finally has a chance to meet the famous Natasha Romanoff that Steve told her so much about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few folks had asked for a Peggy chapter...this one's for you.
> 
> one important thing I should note - this Peggy is the one from the main timeline (i.e. not the one Steve went back to be with).
> 
> (I also just posted another one-shot called The Ribbon that started out as a chapter for this story but grew into something else altogether. it, coincidentally, also involves Peggy. if you're interested, check it out.)
> 
> enjoy.

"What can I get you today, Peg?"

Peggy looks up and smiles. "Just a tea to start. Thank you, Malcolm."

"You got it, hang tight."

Peggy smiles at his now familiar instruction. She had been a touch confused by the phrase the first time he'd said it, never having heard it before, but now she found herself continually amused by it. "I always do," she murmurs wryly as he disappears to fetch her cup of tea.

Her eyes sweep over the café, more out of habit than anything. She finds the usual patrons for the most part, but there are a few that she clocks as unfamiliar. The most notable among them is a woman that Peggy easily identifies as Natasha Romanoff from her distinctive red-hair.

While she had never properly met Natasha, Peggy had heard about her long before her noble sacrifice to ensure the Avengers could go on to bring back half the universe. In fact, she'd heard about her long before her time with the Avengers, and even before she became a SHIELD agent. Nick Fury had come to her with a story of how one of his agents had returned from abroad with a Russian teenager in tow, who turned out to be the woman the intelligence world called the Black Widow. He'd asked Peggy if she thought a graduate of the Red Room could really be convinced to defect, or if he should be taking more drastic actions to cut down an in-process infiltration mission.

Peggy had been skeptical, knowing that the agents from there were renowned for their skills in manipulation and intelligence gathering. Not to mention the idea of her being a sleeper agent was not at all outside the realm of possibility. But Peggy had reviewed the initial interview tapes and statements given by Agent Barton and something had tugged at her. Even now decades later, she still couldn't put a name to what it was she'd felt, but whatever it was, she'd felt it strongly enough to vouch for the young woman. So she'd looked Nick Fury in the eye and told him that if the girl had managed to break enough of her conditioning to engineer a situation to allow herself to be killed, then it was worth trying. But she'd also warned him that it would take effort and that he would need to be patient.

Peggy's thoughts shift to the facility they'd found all those years ago. What they found there had haunted her for decades, and she wonders now how many of their methods had changed for Natasha's training. Did she too bear the scars on her wrists from the handcuffs? Had she watched those films with the subliminal messaging?

She knows they had barely scratched the surface of what those monsters did to those girls as they raised them to be assassins and spies. But she knew enough to be certain it would take immense character, strength, and integrity on Natasha's part to have been able to break the conditioning in any way. So when Fury returned later to tell her the Black Widow had not only defected but was now working for SHIELD fully, not to mention quickly becoming one of its top agents, Peggy hadn't really been surprised.

"Here's your tea, Peg. You havin' anything to eat today?" Malcolm says, interrupting her thoughts.

"Just some toast, Malcolm," she answers with a nod. She's slightly embarrassed to have been caught so unaware and smiles to cover it up, even though she's certain he didn't even notice.

"You got it. I'll bring some of that jam you like too," he promises with a smile that she returns easily. Frequenting the same café did have its perks.

"That would be great. Thank you."

"No problem. Hang-"

"Tight," she finishes for him. "Yes, I know," she adds, flashing a quick smile that he returns widely before disappearing to get her order.

Her gaze tips down to her tea, finding it steeped to perfection. Adding a touch of sugar and some milk, she picks it up to take a sip and finds her eyes closing, if only briefly, to truly savour the moment.

Her eyes open again and are drawn once more to Natasha. Peggy had heard more about her over the years, even as her mind began to wither away. Steve had been fond of bringing her up to date on his new team and colleagues, and that, of course, included Natasha. He'd talked a lot about how impressed by her fearlessness and her skills he was, and how he was certain she wasn't a fan of his thanks to his so-called 'boy scout' attitude. Later he'd told Peggy how appreciative he was of Natasha taking the time to get him acclimated to new things like technology, weapons, and helping him get up to speed on standard tactical procedures. Years later still, he'd told her how good a friend Natasha had become to him, and how frustrated he was that he couldn't seem to repay her kindness in any real way.

Of course, these were all things she remembered after she died, so it was only then that she took the time to notice the redhead at his side when she checked in on Steve. She always found her at his side, steadfastly providing that stability that Steve would never admit to needing. What struck Peggy the most about her though was that Natasha Romanoff was incredibly loyal. Loyalty wasn't generally something people associated with spies, but as Peggy watched her throw away her own freedom to let Steve and Bucky go, and then later stand by her friends in the face of a vast alien army and seemingly insurmountable odds, she knew this woman was cut from a different cloth than most people believed.

Peggy shakes her head gently to refocus her attention on the present, taking another sip of her tea to ground herself again. Natasha's expression is almost contemplative as she focuses on the book on the table in front of her, drinking from her cup occasionally. For all intents and purposes she is completely relaxed, and given their circumstances Peggy is inclined to believe that she actually is relaxed. After all, what did they have to be on the lookout for in the afterlife?

She shakes her head again, closing her eyes as she sips at her tea, enjoying the warmth as it spreads through her. Even though it's been years since she'd been an active agent, she's not sure she'll ever tire of the novelty of not having to be vigilant all the time.

"You know, it's not polite to stare, Agent Carter."

It wasn't often people got the drop on her, but Peggy can't help herself from jumping a bit in surprise. She looks up to find Natasha Romanoff looking down at her with an expression that's a cross between amusement and curiosity. The book she'd been reading is tucked under her arm and her cup is held in her hand, though it appears to be nearly empty

"I haven't been an agent in a long time," she reminds her, having recovered relatively quickly despite the shock. "And it's not polite to sneak up on people. Especially whilst they're drinking their morning tea," she scolds lightly as she dabs up some spilled tea on her hand and the table.

"I wasn't sneaking," she replies, the corner of her mouth tipping up slightly in amusement, "you just happened to close your eyes as I approached."

Peggy eyes her for a moment before she relents and offers a rueful smile. "Forgive an old woman. Old habits and all that."

There's a soft sound that Peggy thinks might be an amused snort. "I might, if there were one here. You're as much an old woman as I'm alive."

Peggy's smile widens because it's exactly the sort of thing she might've said. Not to mention Steve hadn't been kidding about her sense of humour, she adds to herself. "Fair enough," she admits. "Then forgive my curiosity. You're the talk of the town around here these days."

Natasha tilts her head and arches an eyebrow. "Am I?"

"Yes. Saving the universe will do that," she answers drily. "Though to be fair, you're sharing that particular spotlight with my godson."

Her lips curl into a genuine smile. "Yes, it's doing wonders for his already inflated ego."

Peggy smiles, liking this woman more and more by the minute. "Would you care to join me? I suspect you and I have a lot in common. Not least that we've both had to put up with Stark men."

Natasha laughs. "Well when you put it like that, how can I refuse?"

Peggy gestures for her to sit before taking another sip of her tea. Natasha slides into the booth across from her, putting her book and cup down before holding out a hand across the table. "Natasha Romanoff."

Peggy reaches out and clasps it firmly, giving it a single shake. "Peggy Carter. I've heard a lot about you."

"I could say the same about you."

"Steve, I assume?" Peggy guesses, remembering how much he'd told her over the years about Natasha and supposing that that went both ways.

Natasha shakes her head. "Actually, Fury for the most part. Steve told me a few things, but he kept most of it to himself."

Peggy's a little surprised by that, given how much he'd shared with her about Natasha. Then again, her mind was far from a steel trap when he'd told her those things. Perhaps there was a comfort and safety for him in knowing whatever he told her was safe from being found out by the wrong people.

Before either of them can say anything else, Malcolm appears with Peggy's food.

"Here you go, Peg," Malcolm says, sliding the plate with the toast toward her and then putting down the small pot of jam. "I'm sorry," he apologizes as he realizes Peggy is no longer alone at the table. "I didn't realize you were waitin' on someone. I woulda held off taking your order."

"My fault," Natasha explains. "I dropped in on her unexpectedly."

Peggy's eyes twinkle with amusement at the former spy's description of getting the drop on her.

"Well, can I get you anything? Looks like that tea you were working on is done. You want another one?"

Natasha nods, pushing her empty mug toward him. "Please."

"Anything to eat?"

"The fresh fruit crêpe, please."

"You got it. Hang tight, it'll be out soon," he promises as he disappears into the kitchen to put in the order.

Peggy watches as Natasha folds her hands together on the table neatly. "So who spilled the tea on me?"

She smiles at the expression she's sure Natasha chose specifically. "Two guilty parties on that one, I'm afraid."

Natasha's lips curl into another smile. "Not as selective with my friends as I should've been, it seems," she quips wryly.

"On the contrary," Peggy retorts. "They both sang your praises."

Her eyebrows rise in an expression of surprise and then quickly crease into a gentle frown in a prompt to explain. Malcolm walks past the table, only slowing slightly to slide the tea in his hand over to Natasha wordlessly, as though he understands they don't want to be disturbed. Yes, frequenting the same café did indeed have its perks.

"Steve, of course. He had a lot of very complimentary things to say about you," Peggy explains, watching as Natasha smiles warmly at the information. Based on the reaction, she thinks that maybe the opinion of Steve Rogers mattered quite a bit to the former spy. "But you already knew he would've told me about you. And I'm guessing you've worked out the other one as well."

Natasha is quiet with another contemplative expression and Peggy resists the urge to frown at that reaction. Did she really not believe people thought highly of her? "Fury?" she guesses finally.

Peggy nods and then explains. "After Agent Barton came back with you in tow, Nick came to visit me to ask for some advice. He wasn't so sure a graduate of the Red Room would even be able to defect given the level of conditioning we'd seen in those that SHIELD had come across."

To anyone else she would seem the picture of calm, but Peggy can see the ever so brief flare of anger in Natasha's eyes and the clenching of her jaw that lasts just a fraction of a moment.

"He explained the details that Agent Barton had relayed about the circumstances of your defection, and asked me if I thought it was possible that you could successfully break the conditioning."

"What did you tell him?" she asks, tone painfully even and neutral as she sips at her new cup of tea.

Peggy takes a sip of her own tea before setting it down and meeting Natasha's gaze again. "I told him that any girl who could make it out of that place with a shred of humanity deserved to have the full force of SHIELD behind her."

Again, the change in expression on Natasha's face is near invisible, but Peggy sees the slight widening of the eyes in surprise and the awed gratitude that settles there.

"I don't know everything they did," she continues, her voice softening in both volume and tone as she leans forward slightly, "but I saw enough to know that you survived nothing short of hell. That you could do that…" she trails off as she shakes her head and exhales heavily. "That you could break through at least some of the conditioning they put in place, and then engineer a situation to be killed rather than keep killing for them...that speaks more to your character than any words ever could."

Natasha's only reaction is picking up her cup of tea and taking another long drink. Peggy takes her silence as a sign to continue.

"Years later, Nick came to tell me just how right I was. He told me that you'd shattered the expectations and dismissed every question ever asked of your loyalties and abilities." She pauses for a moment, letting her words hang in the space between them. "He told me that he trusted you. And you know as well as I do that Nick Fury gave his trust to seldom few people."

Natasha smiles. "Tony was fond of saying that his secrets had secrets."

Peggy huffs out a laugh as she leans back against the booth and crosses her arms. "That's about as apt a description as I've heard," she admits.

Malcolm appears again ever so briefly to deliver Natasha's crêpe, again opting to slide it over with nothing more than a nod. For all his quirks, Peggy had to admit the man could read a situation well.

"Fury said you were good," Natasha says casually as she begins to cut a piece of her crêpe.

"He said you were better," Peggy retorts as she leans forward and begins to spread some jam over the now mostly cold toast.

"He told me a little about you in my early days, when they were still spending most of the time digging around my brain trying to find triggers."

Peggy is struck by her openness and her honesty. Steve had told her many times how private a person she was, and how close to the vest she played things. Her behaviour today seemed to fly in the face of all that. But Peggy knew that this place had a tendency to change people. She'd experienced it herself, having opened up more and relaxed quite a bit. She didn't doubt that it had happened to Natasha too, even if her stay in the afterlife had only just begun.

"He was probing for a reaction, to see what I knew about SHIELD. I knew that. But looking back now, I think he was also trying to give me hope. He told me you'd crossed paths with the Red Room decades before and had spent substantial time and resources trying to dismantle them."

It had been one of the biggest regrets of Peggy's life that she'd been unable to stop the Red Room Academy. Every time she made advances, they popped up somewhere else. She'd never been able to successfully put a stop to their cruelty and evil. If she'd been able to do that, Natasha and so many other girls might've had a real chance at a life.

Peggy stops spreading the jam and looks up to meet Natasha's gaze. It's an empty apology, but she feels the need to verbalize it anyway. "I'm just sorry I didn't succeed."

Natasha dismisses the half-apology with a shake of her head. "It's not your apology to give. You did what you could with what you had. The Red Room was meticulous in their preparation and their planning. They were not easy to take down even with all the inside knowledge I had."

"But you did take them down?"

Natasha nods with a reluctant and slightly shameful expression that confuses Peggy. "Not my finest moment."

Peggy frowns before the realization sets in. Natasha had likely reverted back to her ruthless killing ways to wipe out those responsible for her suffering. Still...they had done such unspeakable things… "I think we'll have to agree to disagree on that."

"What I did to them… Maybe some would say they were deserving of it, but…" Natasha trails off before taking another sip of her tea. "It wasn't necessary. I didn't have to do it that way."

Peggy eyes her carefully, trying to understand the nuances of what she had done. But she dismisses the notion quickly because it wasn't her story to know. "In any case, the world is better off without them spreading their cruelty and torture onto more young girls. We can at least agree on that, I think."

Natasha nods.

"And I think that's quite enough serious talk. Time for more important matters," Peggy says, directing them back onto lighter topics.

Natasha's eyes twinkle knowingly. "Like Steve Rogers?"

Peggy tuts and shoots her a look of disapproval. "I'd settle for some stories about my godson. Lord knows he's a fool, and I've seen and heard some stories, but I suspect you are a treasure trove of a source for these things."

"Looking for blackmail material? I'm afraid he's unashamed about most of it."

"That implies there are some things he is ashamed of."

Natasha laughs. "Few and far between, but yes. You'll have to wait until his wife gets here for the really good stuff though."

"They always did say patience was a virtue," Peggy replies with an impatient sigh. "Alright, so if not my godson, then yes, Steve. You must have some stories about him."

Natasha smiles warmly. "The first time I showed him my cell phone I genuinely thought I'd sent him into a complete tailspin. The man caught up on military tactics, fighting techniques, and weapons technology with no problem. But I show him a mobile phone and I really thought his head was going to explode," she says with a laugh. "Of course, the phone Tony gave him to use was top of the line, decked out with more features than he knew what to do with, so that didn't help either."

Peggy shakes her head in amusement, doing her best to stifle a laugh.

"It took him a little while to ask, but he came to me eventually and asked if I could show him how to use it. I think he was more concerned with not offending Tony than he was about actually learning to use it."

Peggy smiles again before her expression sobers. "I can't imagine what it was like to wake up and have the world be so different."

Natasha is quiet as she takes another bite of her food, but her expression is slightly contemplative again. Peggy wonders if maybe Natasha knew more than most about acclimating to a new world given her own experience after defecting.

"He did okay," Natasha says. "Of course he was overwhelmed by a lot, but he adapted quickly."

"With the help of his friends," Peggy adds knowingly. "And from what he told me, you helped him quite a bit."

"It was refreshing," she admits. "He knew my name and that I was a SHIELD agent, but he didn't know anything about my past. When he looked at me, I was just another person. I know Fury gave him files on all of us, so he would have had at least some access to my background, but he either didn't care or didn't read it."

Peggy absorbs her words, realizing the honest look at their friendship that Natasha is granting her. "He's a good man."

Natasha nods. "Some of that is thanks to you, I think."

Peggy shakes her head. "No, he was a good man long before he met me. I just pointed him in a direction where that goodness could be more of use."

Natasha hums her agreement but opts not to say anything.

"Thank you," Peggy says, straightening up in her seat.

Natasha looks up with a silent frown.

"For being there for him when I couldn't. And for helping him find the direction he was supposed to be going to put that goodness to good use."

"It was my pleasure," Natasha says. "I was lucky to have him as a friend. I know how corny this sounds, but he made me want to be a better person."

"He has that effect on people," Peggy agrees with a nod.

"Was he always so…"

"Earnestly good?" Peggy offers, familiar with the question after many years.

"Yeah," Natasha breathes out with a chuckle.

"Most of the time, yes. He was a stubborn idiot and really only became the Captain America war hero that everyone fell in love with because he went directly against orders."

"They don't put that in the exhibit in the museum," she says wryly.

Peggy laughs. "No, they don't. But Steve was going after his friend no matter what."

"Some things never change."

"Indeed. But yes, he's always had that strong moral compass."

"I hated him for that," Natasha admits with a chuckle. "I was a spy. I operated in that specific grey area that everyone else liked to avoid. And then here comes Captain America operating purely in the white. It was nauseating."

Peggy laughs again, knowing exactly what she means. "You managed to bring him over to the grey eventually though."

"Only a little," she says. "But I do count that as a personal victory."

Peggy laughs and can't help but think that Natasha seemed, more and more, to be a person that she wanted to get to know. From what she could tell, Natasha seemed to be relaxing and was becoming comfortable sharing some things with her, so maybe them becoming friends wasn't such a preposterous idea.

And lord knows it will pay off to be able to team up against Steve when he arrives, she thinks to herself as she smiles again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> much to my surprise this entire thing grew from the 'fury said you were good' and 'he said you were better' lines of dialogue that popped into my head one night. as a couple of you quite rightly pointed out - these two have a lot to talk about what with their Stark interactions, friendships with Steve, not to mention their obvious overlap in professions, so it makes sense that they'd meet up and chat in the afterlife.
> 
> anyway - thoughts? comments? ideas? do let me know - even if it's just a few short words, it means a lot to me.
> 
> hope you're all staying safe!


	29. A Part of This Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint has a chat with Nate about his namesake, and goes on a jaunt down memory lane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because I utterly adore the relationship Nat and Clint had.
> 
> enjoy.
> 
> p.s. since I apparently can't stay focused on just the one story, I'll likely be posting a new one soon. it'll be in the same style, but covering everything before Endgame. check it out if you're so inclined.

“Dad?”

“What’s up, Nate?” Clint answers without looking up from his current task of digging through the desk’s drawer in search of the external hard drive that holds their family photos. He’d already found and plugged in the air gapped laptop, so the hard drive was all he needed to start his jaunt down memory lane.

“Whatcha doin’?” Nate asks. Clint glances up and sees his youngest son shifting his weight from one foot to another as though he can’t stand still. He smiles because despite the patience he learned years later as a sniper, he’d been fidgety and restless as a kid too.

“I’m looking for the hard drive that has the family pictures on it.”

Nate’s brow creases gently with a frown. “But the pictures are over there,” he says while pointing behind him to the den. Clint smiles because he’s not wrong - there were a select few photos from over the years that had been printed out, framed, and displayed in various rooms.

“Some of them, yeah. But we have a lot more on here,” he explains, pulling out the hard drive he’s managed to finally find and wiggling it in his fingers.

“How many more?” Nate asks, tilting his head as his gaze lingers on the small, black hard drive. Clint is grateful that despite having grown up in a time when technology permeates nearly everything, Nate is still unaware of _all_ the kinds of technology in the world.

“Oh, I dunno,” Clint says as he plugs in the drive and waits for it to initialize, “lots.”

“Are there any of me?”

Clint nods as he grins, trying to stifle his laughter at his son’s innocent question. “Yeah, I think there’s a few of you on there. Lots more of the rest of us though.”

“No fair,” Nate pouts, though Clint can see it’s an act.

“Sorry, buddy. We’ve been around longer than you, and that means more pictures.”

“Does that mean you and mom have more than Lila and Cooper?”

Clint can’t help the laugh from bubbling out. “You callin’ me old, kid?”

Nate grins mischievously. “Yeah, ‘cause you are.”

Clint frowns dramatically. “You know, you were in line to be in my top three favourite kids, but now…” Nate’s jaw drops in shock and Clint shrugs. “You forced my hand, bud. You called me old.”

He can see his son calculating the distance between them and trying to work out if he can attack fast enough to avoid being grabbed, and knows it’s only a matter of time before he decides to go for it. He grins and then arches an eyebrow in a silent challenge, which Nate doesn’t hesitate to try and rise to immediately, launching himself at Clint with a loud yell.

Clint laughs heartily as he grabs his son and flips him upside down before starting to tickle him mercilessly. The giggles fill the room and Clint finds a smile spreading widely across his face. God, how he’d **missed** this. While the memories of the last five years still linger in his mind, the balm of having them back and hearing their laughter and voices fill the house was doing wonders to make those memories fade away.

“Uncle! Uncle! Uncle!” Nate cries between his giggles.

“You sure?” Clint goads, his hand pausing dramatically with fingers splayed widely and wiggling, ready to dole out more tickles.

“Yes!”

“Alright. I accept your surrender. On one condition.”

“What?”

“You have to admit I’m not old.”

Nate frowns before he huffs out, “Fine. You’re not _that_ old.”

Clint’s gaze narrows at his son’s side-step. But before he can say anything in response, Laura breezes past the office and calls out “I’d take what you can get, babe.”

His expression falls and he sighs heavily before realizing his wife’s right. This was _his _kid after all. He’d clearly inherited his cheekiness, meaning that was probably as close to an admission as he was going to get. “Fine,” he relents as he puts Nate down.

“Dinner’s in 15!” Laura calls out from the kitchen.

“Sounds good!” Clint calls back before looking back at Nate. “You wanna see some pictures of Lila and Coop when they were your age?”

Nate’s eyes widen, and Clint knows he’s having a hard time imagining his older siblings as that small once. Hell, sometimes _he_ had a hard time remembering they’d once been that small.

Clint chuckles. “I’ll take that as a yes. C’mon, hop up,” he says, patting his lap. Nate obliges immediately, clearly excited by the prospect.

Once he’s situated comfortably, Clint begins to tap through the pictures. They’re organized chronologically, so the photos begin with some from the early days of Laura and Clint’s relationship that had been scanned from hard copies. Clint laughs heartily as his son struggles to wrap his head around the fact that his parents once looked so much different than how he was used to seeing them.

“That’s you and mom?”

“Yep.”

“But you don’t look so old there.”

“Hey, what’d we agree to on the age thing, huh?” Nate smiles guiltily. “But, yeah we looked a little different back then. That’s before we were even married.”

Clint continues to click through the images, taking both he and Nate through the years digitally. Nate is full of questions about life before he was born, and so with each new photo Clint is asked to explain who’s in it, how old they are, and how long ago it was. By the time they reach Cooper’s birth, the questions have started to ramp up. They run the gamut from “why is he so tiny” and “was I that tiny?” to “why are you crying there?” and a little bit of everything in between.

Truthfully, it’s a bit of a refresher for Clint too. It had been many years since he’d taken the time to look through these photos. The hard drive had remained untouched since even before his family had drifted away on the wind as dust. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to stay in the house, much less look at their family photos from over the years. The grief had just been too much.

_I suppose I’m lucky no one looted the house in those five years. We could’ve lost everything…_

“Who’s that?”

Clint is startled out of his musing by his son’s abrupt question. He looks at the screen and feels his heart clench. He fights to keep his breathing even as he looks at the photo of Natasha cradling a newborn Cooper, feeling the weight of her loss crush him again.

He coughs lightly to clear his throat of the emotion lodged there. “That’s uh, that’s your Aunt Nat.”

Nate frowns in thought. “Like who I’m named after?” he asks, turning to face Clint.

Clint nods, finding the innocence and wonder in his son’s eyes to be an anchor for him as his grief threatens to pull him away once more. “Yeah,” he answers, tone a little wobbly and breathy as he tries to hold it together.

It hasn’t been _so_ long since she’d been dangling in his hold on that alien planet. The grief over losing her is still fresh, and sometimes when he closes his eyes he can still see her looking up at him in her last moments alive. Can still see the myriad of emotions swimming in her eyes and the creases in her forehead as she frowns gently. Can still hear her soft plea for him to let her go and the reassurance that it was okay.

“She’s pretty,” Nate says, oblivious to his father’s emotions.

“Yeah,” Clint agrees with a watery smile.

“But her name is Nat...not Nate. How come my name’s different if I’m named after her?”

_“Hey, Nat? You got a sec?”_

_Nat looks up from her book and tilts her head slightly. “Yeah. What’s up?”_

_Clint squeezes Laura’s hand. “Well, I hope you know by now how important you are to us and to this family.”_

_Nat’s brow creases as she no doubt tries to work out what his little speech is about. “Okay…” She pauses for a beat. “You’re not dying or something are you?”_

_“What? No. God, stop trying to figure it out and just let me say it.”_

_She gestures for him to go ahead, though the small frown creasing her brow remains._

_“Well, Laura and I were talking, and we’d like to name this little one after you,” he says, rubbing his hand across Laura’s stomach gently._

_He watches as Nat’s expression softens. “I… I don’t know what to say to that,” she says, head shaking slowly in disbelief._

_“Then just say yes.” _

_“I-”_

_“Nat,” Laura interjects, “if you don’t want it, that’s okay. But we’d really like to.”_

_Nat eyes them both for a moment, the silence in the room feeling thunderous in Clint’s ears. “Okay,” she says finally, her head bobbing once in confirmation._

_In and amongst the shock and disbelief in her features Clint doesn’t miss the pride and wonder, and a part of him feels so damn happy to be able to give her that._

He shakes his head to bring himself out of the memory and he realizes he hasn’t yet answered Nate’s question. “Well at first we thought you were gonna be a girl, so we were gonna name you Natasha. Then we found out you were a boy, but we still wanted to name you after her so we changed it a bit.”

Nate seems to accept the answer and looks back at the screen for a second before his gaze swings back to Clint. “What was she like?”

Clint feels his heart clench again because hearing the question pains him. His son was supposed to grow up knowing his namesake. He was supposed to learn all about his Aunt Natasha and the amazing woman she was. He was supposed to carry her name proudly and bring out that little smile of pride and wonder from her that she let out so rarely. He was supposed to know and learn from her. And instead all he’s left with are a handful of pictures and other people’s memories.

“Well,” Clint starts, struggling with what to say. “For one thing, she was the bravest person I’ve ever met.”

“Braver than you?”

“Yeah, buddy.” he answers solemnly as he meets his son’s gaze. “Way braver than me.”

“Wow.”

“And she was an amazing friend to me, and to mom. And she was a pretty amazing aunt to Lila and Cooper.”

Nate looks back at the screen and Clint sees his head droop down a little. “But not to me…”

Clint feels another bunch of emotions hit him like a sledgehammer. “She loved you so much, Nate.”

“I didn’t even know her.”

“But she knew you. And she loved you. I promise you, she loved you, Nate. Everything she did to save me was to make sure I could come back to you guys.”

Before Nate can say anything, they both hear Laura call out that it was time for dinner. He scrambles off Clint’s lap and out of the office quickly, his thoughts already onto the next thing, as is the way with kids. It breaks Clint’s heart to see him run out of the room and away from the conversation about his aunt because he wants so badly for his son to know about her. He was named after for a reason, and he deserved to know why.

Clint looks back at the screen and lets his mind wander to the memory of that day when they’d introduced Nat to Cooper.

_“Hey, Nat,” Clint says tiredly after opening the door. “You look like shit,” he adds, finding an all too familiar look of tiredness verging on exhaustion in her eyes. It’s not altogether surprising though. He supposes she’s had a bit more on her plate since he’d taken leave, though he knows she’d never confirm it._

_“Remind me again, with sweet talk like that, how is it you convinced Laura to marry you?” she answers wryly. Clint flips up his middle finger in response and she just tilts her head appraisingly. “You look like shit too, by the way. I guess they aren’t joking when they say kids suck the life out of you.”_

_Clint gapes at her, mind tiredly whirring to process her sarcasm. “Shut up,” he finally settles on lamely, “and get in here already.”_

_She grins and follows him into the house, dropping her bag by the stairs and shrugging off her coat to hang it up on a hook by the door._

_“Hey, Nat,” Laura says tiredly from the couch as Clint takes a seat in the chair across from her._

_“Hey,” Nat answers with a small smile as she breezes past them into the kitchen. “Sorry, just going to wash my hands - I feel gross from all the travel.”_

_Clint thinks he should probably throw out a quip of some kind for that easy tee-up, but he’s too tired to formulate anything so he lets it go._

_Nat returns shortly after and drops onto the couch beside Laura. “So how’s life as parents?”_

_Just as Laura opens her mouth to respond, there’s a loud cry from the bassinet in the other room. She sighs heavily and hands the mug of tea she’d been holding to Nat. “That pretty much sums it up,” she says with a tired smile as she gets up and heads to the other room._

_Clint sighs lightly as he tips his head back and rubs his eyes with his free hand. He’s over the moon to be a dad, but he’s also been less exhausted after back-to-back-to-back missions._

_“That bad, huh?”_

_Clint’s head tips forward and his eyes open slowly. “You have no idea what the word exhausted really means until you have a kid cryin’ at all hours.”_

_Nat lets out a little huff of amusement. “And you went into that willingly.”_

_“Just you wait ‘til you see him. His good looks are enough to make you forget that he screams like a banshee.”_

_“So he takes after Laura then?”_

_“Oh, shut up,” he chastises. His eyes focus back onto her, finding that exhaustion in her features again. “Fury working you hard with me gone?”_

_She waves off his worry immediately. “Been a bit of a pick-up with intel,” she explains. “He sends his regards, by the way. Said he didn’t know what possessed you to procreate, but that he knows plenty of worse people to be fathers.”_

_“Wow, sentimental guy.”_

_She shrugs but grins briefly. “Coulson has demanded I bring back pictures. So you better give me something to give him, otherwise he won’t leave me alone.”_

_Clint laughs tiredly. “I’ll make sure to send him a few.”_

_“Even better.”_

_“Someone’s awake,” Laura says as she enters the room._

_“Aw, he woke up just for you, Nat.”_

_“Guess I’m losing my touch at stealthy entries,” she quips dryly._

_Laura settles down next to Nat on the couch and adjusts the bundle of blankets in her arms. “Nat, this is Cooper,” she says softly. “Cooper, this is your Aunt Nat.”_

_Clint watches as Nat leans over to look down at his son. She had spent so much of her life being taught to care for no one and that love wasn’t anything worth knowing about, and yet as she looks down at her de facto nephew, all Clint can see is wonder and love in her expression. Yes, there’s a touch of anxiety and fear there too, but largely it’s love. And not for the first time, he feels relief and pride at his decision to spare her life all those years ago. He could never have imagined how important defying those orders would be._

_“Pretty cute kid, Barton,” Nat says, snapping herself out of her reverie._

_“I told you, he’s a handsome little devil.”_

_“You want to hold him?” Laura offers tentatively. Clint eyes his partner carefully, unsure of how she’ll react to that idea. He sees her gaze flick up to Laura’s before she leans back slightly, reflexibly, he thinks. He understands the reaction because he too had worried about his hands, the ones that dealt out death and pain, holding something as innocent and pure as a baby._

_Nat’s gaze flicks over to him and he smiles reassuringly, tilting his head ever so slightly and softening his gaze in a silent expression of support. He sees her turn back to Laura and then swallow as she nods. “Okay,” she replies softly. So softly that Clint almost misses it._

_Laura hands the bundle over to Nat’s arms slowly and he watches as his partner, the woman who’d saved his life countless times, holds his son. He’d thought that Nat might hold the baby like he had at first - the same way one handles explosives, carefully and at a distance - but she’s cradling Cooper in her arms easily, as though she’s done it a thousand times before. Her gaze is soft as she looks down at him, and she smiles when he reaches up to clumsily grab at her hair which is hanging down just out of his reach. His heart fills at the sight, knowing that this moment of tenderness is one that no one else in the world gets to see. They know the Black Widow and Agent Romanoff. They know the skilled and infamous agent. But he and Laura know Natasha. And now Cooper will know Aunt Nat._

_There’s a soft click and it’s only then that Clint notices Laura had gotten up to snap a photo of the moment. Nat remains oblivious though, her gaze still locked with Cooper’s as she adjusts her hold slightly and leans forward a bit more to let him swat at her hair a bit. She laughs softly as he manages to somehow grab a hold of it and tugs. She murmurs something to him that Clint can’t quite catch, but he’s pretty sure it’s Russian._

“Hey, you coming? Food’s getting cold.”

Clint blinks as Laura’s voice brings him out of his memories. “Yeah,” he answers as he looks up to meet his wife’s gaze. “Yeah, just need a minute.”

She lingers in the doorway for just another moment, with a frown creasing her brow as she eyes him knowingly, before she crosses the room and stops behind his chair. She leans forward slightly, wraps her arms around him from behind and rests her chin on his shoulder. “I love that picture,” she says softly after a moment.

“Yeah, me too,” Clint answers roughly. He lets out a harsh breath that’s filled to the brim with guilt and grief and a thousand other emotions he can’t put a name to.

Silence lingers in the room for a moment before she pulls back and then spins his chair to face her. “C’mon, let’s eat dinner.”

* * *

Later, long after dinner had finished and the kids had disappeared into their rooms, Clint is relaxing on the couch with Laura curled up beside him. The laptop is balanced on his thighs and they’ve resumed Clint’s earlier jaunt down memory lane.

“I remember that,” Laura says fondly, pointing to the screen where there’s an image of Nat lying on the ground, holding Cooper above her head and smiling widely. “That was the same day she found out that he knew who she was.”

A grin spreads across Clint’s face as the memory rises to the surface of his mind. 

_“Hey, Nat,” Clint says, opening the door before wrapping her up in a tight hug that has her letting out a small oomph. He knows if it were anyone other than him or Laura giving her a hug like this, they’d likely be flat on the floor with a knife pressed to their throat. As it was, they didn’t tend to share hugs often, but when he’d heard about her last mission he’s so grateful to see her alive and in one piece. “Heard you had a hell of a mission.”_

_She scowls. “Coulson’s such a snitch.”_

_“Hey, c’mon now. He’s just worried.”_

_“He’s like a grandmother,” she scoffs. “Hovering and fretting. I’m fine.”_

_“Yeah, that massive bandage under your shirt really says fine.”_

_Her scowl deepens. “Yeah, it does, because I’m here and not lying dead in a ditch halfway across the world,” she snips defensively._

_Clint’s gaze narrows because while he’s used to her being snippy with him, it’s uncharacteristic of her to be that way when she’s here at the farm. Here she relaxes and unwinds, at least as much as she’s able to. Here it was friendly and amusing banter, not pointed barbs._

_She seems to notice his scrutiny and relents. “Sorry,” she breathes out. “Been a tough few weeks”_

_He nods understandingly. “Anything you need to share?”_

_She seems to consider his offer for a moment before shaking her head. “Maybe later. With vodka.”_

_Clint blinks in surprise but recovers quickly and gestures for her to enter. “You got it. I’ll put some in the freezer.”_

_If she was willing to talk about it, that meant that Coulson had seriously downplayed just how fucked up the mission had been. He had been sparse on details, but had warned Clint that she’d been through the wringer and to expect some fallout._

_“Hey, Nat,” Laura says in greeting from the floor where she’s lying on her stomach in front of Cooper who is playing with some toys._

_“Hey, Laura. How you doing?”_

_“I’m good. How’re you?”_

_“Better now that I’m here and not on-call for a couple weeks.”_

_“Turning your phone off?”_

_Nat scoffs. “I wish. But I’m ignoring any non-emergencies.”_

_“As good as it gets for you these days, huh?”_

_Nat shrugs. “I take what I can get.”_

_“Bed’s made up upstairs. Go ahead and drop your stuff if you like.”_

_“Ah-nee Naaa!”_

_Laura chuckles as Cooper toddles over to Nat and reaches his hands up. Nat’s eyes are wide and the confusion is plain on her face._

_“Ah-nee Naaa! Up!” Cooper repeats, wiggling his fingers and hands as he looks up at her hopefully._

_“She’s here all of twenty seconds and already I’m old news,” Clint says with a laugh._

_“I don’t- What is he doing?” Nat stutters in a completely uncharacteristic display of confusion and being overwhelmed._

_Laura chuckles. “I think it’s pretty obvious.”_

_Nat glances down at him and then back up to Laura and Clint. “Does he-” she starts, but stops abruptly, as though she’s not quite willing to finish the question._

_“Know who you are?” Clint offers, watching her expression carefully. “Yeah, he does. We told him his Auntie Nat was coming to visit and he’s been babbling on about it pretty much since.”_

_She just keeps frowning, even as Cooper leans on her legs with whines at her. “I don’t understand.”_

_“You know, for someone who works in intelligence-” Laura whacks him hard to cut off his quip. “Ow. Alright, alright,” he says, rubbing his arm where she’d hit him._

_“He knows who I am?” Nat repeats dumbly, as though she doesn’t understand the concept. Clint’s heart squeezes at the realization that she probably **doesn’t** understand why Cooper knows her. Family is, by all accounts, a new concept to her, after all._

_“Yeah,” Laura says, “he knows his Auntie Nat. Of course he does.”_

_“Ah-nee Naaa!” Cooper whines, banging his fists lightly against her legs. “Up!”_

_She drops her bag off her shoulder and leans forward tentatively, holding out her arms to scoop him up into her arms. He snuggles into her hold easily, arms wrapping around her tightly. Nat’s expression is still bewildered, but Clint can see traces of that love and wonder that he’d seen when she first held him too. He wonders, not for the first time, what kind of person she would’ve been if the Red Room hadn’t stolen her away from her own family. It was clear she had a big heart, even if it was hidden beneath a carefully constructed wall._

_“Looks like someone’s tired,” Laura says, noticing Cooper’s eyes beginning to droop closed. “D’you mind carrying him up, Nat? It’s time for his nap.”_

_“I, uh, yeah, sure,” she replies, eyes blinking quickly as she tries to process the situation._

_Clint smiles reassuringly at her. “Don’t worry, we won’t make you change his diaper,” he quips._

_Nat doesn’t respond to the joke and just follows Laura up the stairs, her steps seeming to be just a little more careful and measured than usual. He smiles, knowing that while she’d been trained in everything and anything that might have been related to a mission, here she was totally out of her comfort zone._

“God, she was completely thrown off by that,” Laura says.

“Yeah. Like she couldn’t believe he knew her and _wanted_ her.”

Laura smiles sadly. “You didn’t see her upstairs. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone put a kid down to sleep so gently.”

“She slid into being an aunt pretty easily,” he comments as he leans back against the couch, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. _Far more smoothly that I ever figured she would_, he thinks to himself.

Laura nods as she leans back as well, resting her head on his shoulder. “That’s because under all that shit they trained into her, she had a beautiful soul. She was always more gentle, tender, and kind-hearted than people gave her credit for.”

“She really was,” he agrees.

He sees Laura hesitate with whatever it is she wants to say, and he offers a small smile of encouragement. She swallows and then smiles back at him before she speaks. “This is good. Talking about her, I mean. I know it hurts, but...she deserves to be remembered, and not just for saving everyone. She was a part of this family too,” Laura finishes, a little teary-eyed and voice shaking just a bit with emotion.

“Yeah,” Clint says, pulling her into his arms and holding her tightly, pressing a kiss to her head. “She was.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one got us back on the angst/emotional train after a lighter few chapters. oops.
> 
> hope y'all are staying safe in these weird times.
> 
> as always - please do let me know your thoughts, feelings, and any suggestions for future chapters. the comments, even if just a few words, always make my day.


	30. When Do We Start?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil and Natasha discuss bucket lists, and he thinks back to the Natalia he met all those years ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because I firmly believe Natasha and Phil had a strong friendship.  
(and maybe also because I've been rewatching Agents of SHIELD, and his dry humour is just so fantastic...)

“This seat taken?” Phil asks as he looks down at Natasha. She’s leaning back against the trunk of a large tree that’s not far from the lake’s edge. Her arms are hugging her legs loosely and he thinks her expression is a touch troubled as she gazes out over the water. He knows that look, and he knows that he’s one of only a select few who do. To most, she just looks contemplative, but to those few who _know_ her, she’s lost and searching for something to provide some balance. He’s not surprised - her entire world had just been uprooted.

She looks up and offers a half-smile that’s not fooling either of them. “All yours.”

Her voice is even, if a little neutral, but it’s the pain in her eyes that he focuses on. He knows some of her pain - dying and leaving behind your friends and family is a commonality among them all here, after all - but most of it, he suspects, is something he doesn’t understand. Something he _can’t_ understand, because he has no idea what she’s lived through since his death at the hands of Loki. Sure, he’s heard bits and pieces, and seen a thing or two when he’s looked in on the world, but mostly he’s in the dark. Logically, he knows that this place has deemed her soul has healed enough to move out of the transitional place, but looking into her eyes now - he has some serious questions about that.

He sits down and joins her in leaning back against the trunk of the tree. “How are you doing?”

She glances over at him, her expression telling him everything he needs to know without her having to say a word. “I know, stupid question,” he admits, a rueful smile curling on his lips. It hasn’t been long since she’d joined him here, so he knows everything is still fresh. “But how are you doing?”

He isn’t surprised when she doesn’t answer right away. He knows an honest answer about emotions will take her time to formulate. It always has. They’re quiet as she collects her thoughts, and the gentle sounds of the water lapping at the shore and wind rustling in the trees instead fill the scene. It reminds him of those early days when he had sat with her in silence, letting her work through the brutal aftershocks of the deprogramming sessions. She’d never explicitly asked him to stay, but she’d also never asked him to go. So he stayed, and eventually they started talking a bit as she got more comfortable and they removed more and more of the programming the Red Room had put in place. Under it all he'd found a girl struggling to come to terms with the weapon they'd forced her to become and the things she'd been forced to do, and someone searching desperately for a purpose and trying to find a foothold in a brand new world.

“I miss them,” she admits finally, her tone even but still bursting with emotion.

Phil schools his features to hide his surprise, because they are words that would never have left the lips of the Natasha Romanoff he’d known. She had always been fiercely private, even to those she allowed into her inner circle, and so he knows without a doubt, that despite how much she might have been thinking and feeling them she would never have said them aloud. And so his heart floods with pride that she can admit it openly now. But it also fills with sadness, because he knows she’s gone through hell to get to that point.

He wants to smile and tell her that the afterlife takes all that pain away. He wants to tell her that the emptiness inside her fills with something good sooner than later. He wants to tell her that it doesn’t take long to feel like you haven’t left the best parts of yourself behind.

But he can’t.

The afterlife may be magical and mysterious in ways none of them can understand, but coming to terms with your death and grieving what you’ve lost are still painful processes people have to undergo here. And he's fairly certain that beyond him, she doesn't have anyone else here. She'd left the rest of family and friends behind to save them.

“I know it’s not helpful,” he begins carefully, “but it does get easier eventually.”

She scoffs. “That therapist you made me go to used to tell me that.”

“As I recall you weren’t terribly fond of those sessions.”

She smiles at the memory, but it’s fleeting. “No, can’t say that I was.”

“She was right.”

“Still a shitty thing to tell someone.”

“Yeah,” he agrees with a soft sigh.

She’s quiet for a beat before she speaks again. “I lived longer than I was probably supposed to,” she muses, “but there was so much more I wanted to do.”

Phil sighs again because after the start in life she’d had, he had really hoped that she’d get to have those sorts of things. And maybe she did have some, but it seemed that she’d been saddled with responsibilities that pushed most of those things further and further away. “I'm sorry you didn't get to do it. You of all people deserved it.”

“What about you?” she asks, shrugging off his condolences and pushing them away from her side of that particular emotional topic. “You finish your bucket list?”

He shakes his head. “Not even close.”

“Well, you got to die and come back to life,” she points out, tone dry as the Sahara and just like he remembered. “That’s one no one else can cross off their list.”

“You know, shockingly that wasn’t actually _on_ my list.”

“No? Should’ve been.”

He shakes his head as he blows out a breath. He’s happy to hear her dry humour sneaking out, having wondered if what she’d lived through had washed it away and hardened her again. “At least we both got to meet aliens. Not everyone can say that.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. Thor took a lot of selfies with fans.”

“Of course he did,” Phil says, shaking his head in disbelief. “Well, we both went to space, so that’s something.” Her eyebrow arches as she shoots him a questioning look. “Right,” he says with a nod, “there’s a few things I should probably catch you up on sometime.”

“I’ll say,” she mutters. She pauses for a beat and then a small smile curls on her lips, one he recognizes as when she knows she’s got a winning hand. “I did spend most of the last five years emailing with a raccoon and an alien who’d been mostly replaced with machinery and technology.”

Phil blinks. “Okay,” he says with a tilt of his head and a smile, “you win.”

Her smile widens for a moment before it fades and they’re both left gazing out over the water, the soft sounds of the wind in the trees and water lapping at the shore the only sounds filling the scene again. Her voice is soft when she speaks again. “Who'd have thought we'd end up here together?”

Phil smiles and can’t resist throwing in a playful verbal jab. “I always did warn you and Clint that you'd kill yourselves one day with your reckless attitudes.”

“Yeah,” she says, tone and expression far more thoughtful than he’d expected. “But what about you? You were the responsible one and you beat us both here,” she adds. He can hear the laugh sitting on the tip of her tongue, and yet not struggling to get out.

“Well, someone had to kick the Avengers into forming,” he quips, trying again to ease some of her seriousness and steer them back to a lighter tone.

She smiles sadly. “But you didn't actually die then. You told me when I got here that you hadn't been dead as long as I thought,” she points out, ignoring the olive branch he’d offered to guide themselves away from this heavy conversation.

“True,” he admits with a single nod of his head. “But technically I _was _dead for several days before they brought me back.”

“How exactly _did_ they bring you back?” she asks with a furrowed brow. Her tone isn't bitter, just curious, and he's grateful. She has every right to be angry with him for leaving her and the rest of them to mourn him, but she's apparently moved right past it.

“Some alien tissue and tech.”

Her eyes widen. “SHIELD had that hiding away somewhere?”

“For you, actually.”

Her eyes widen further and she recoils a little in shock. “Me?”

“Well, not just you. But in the case of the death of an Avenger.”

“And Fury used it on you.” She blows out a small exhale before he hears a bit of the snarky Natasha he knows return. “Sneaky bastard.”

“Well, that’s Fury for you. Believe me, I wasn’t consulted. I’d actually spent time overseeing the development of the project before I submitted to have it terminated due to debilitating, persistent side effects. Clearly I was overruled.”

“How bad were the side effects?”

“Bad enough they had to use memory wipes so I'd stay sane.”

She recoils again, and he knows it's because of her own history with conditioning and memory wipes. He doesn't blame her, given that he now knows a fraction of what she'd gone through.

“In the end it only lengthened my life by a few years, but it did let me find another great team and spend time growing with them.”

She smiles, and he can see this time it’s not forced and not tinged with sadness, but is warm and genuine. “I'm glad. I'm not sure I'd have stuck around at SHIELD as long as I did without your support, so I know they were damn lucky to have you.”

He smiles fondly. “You’d have liked them.”

She shakes her head and scrunches her face. “No, I wouldn’t have. I didn’t like anybody.”

“You liked Melinda May,” he counters.

It’s her turn to smile fondly. “God, I haven’t-” she cuts herself off and clenches her jaw before correcting herself. “_Hadn't _seen her in years… You dragged her out of administration?”

“With an assist from Fury. He knew I’d try to recruit her for my team, so he primed her with a mission to observe me for side effects.”

She eyes him critically for a moment. “I assume you found out?”

He nods. “Unfortunately it happened right when you and Cap were exposing Hydra, so we were all pretty sure she was a sleeper agent.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah,” he breathes out. “Believe me when I say that wasn’t a fun time.”

She fixes him with an utterly unimpressed look. “Because dumping all of SHIELD’s secrets and my past online for the world to see was a real fun party...”

He exhales heavily. “Yeah, okay. Not fun for you either.”

“Understatement,” she mutters with a roll of her eyes.

He ignores her reaction and presses on. “One of our first ops, we tracked a woman who was a part of the Rising Tide-”

“The hackers?”

He nods. “She came to us as this kid who was lost and struggling without any footholds in the world, an empty page for a family tree, and a hell of a lot of baggage. She reminded me a lot of you in those early years actually,” he says fondly, turning to meet her gaze. “She was all rough edges, but with willpower and stubbornness like you wouldn't believe.”

“I'm trying very hard not to take offence to that,” Nat teases.

Phil laughs heartily. “Eventually she and I grew closer, and without me really realizing it, she'd become like a daughter to me.” He pauses for a moment before turning to face Natasha. “I cared about her the same way I cared about you, Nat.”

She’s speechless and he wonders if she'd ever known just how much he cared. _Judging by her reaction, probably not._ “I gotta say, I'm a little hurt you didn't know,” he admits.

She shakes her head immediately, meeting his gaze. “I knew. I just-” she stops abruptly, sighing heavily and covering her face with her hands momentarily before dropping them back into her lap and allowing her gaze to fall as well. “My brain was so fucked up that it took me a long time for me to realize it. And when I finally did, I couldn't express how I felt.”

He nods in understanding. Only a handful of people really know the depths of the things she went through after defecting, and how deep those wounds went. 

She looks back up at him. “After Clint, you were the first person to show me any kindness. I never forgot that.”

Phil smiles warmly. He'd supervised a lot of agents over his career, but Natasha was one of a few that would always be special to him. “I don't know if I ever told you, but I was proud of you. I **am** proud of you. Everything you overcame, and then everything you did as an agent and then an Avenger... It was nothing short of amazing, Nat.”

She smiles widely and her eyes brighten as she leans over and bumps his shoulder with hers. “Thanks, Phil,” she says softly.

Phil can't help but think back to his first interactions with her. She'd been a slightly scrawny teenager then, waging wars in her own mind as she tried to find footing in a new world. Everyone had approached her like a caged animal, expecting the worst. He'd decided to take a different tactic.

_“A word of warning,” Fury says, as he hands a thin folder to Phil. “She’s not all that talkative, but don’t mistake her silence for meekness. She’s as deadly as they come.”_

_“I’ve heard the stories, sir,” he replies as he flips through the few pages in the folder. “Question is, how many of them are true?” he asks as he looks up. Fury gives nothing away in his expression, but then Phil hadn’t expected him to. “So you want me to oversee her integration?”_

_“Eventually, yes, but we’re not there yet. We still need to know more about her. Beyond the initial bit of intel she gave us upon arrival at Barton’s request, she hasn’t told our interrogators shit. She actually managed to get more information **out **of the last one than he was able to get from her. He didn’t even realize it until I pulled him out.”_

_“He didn’t realize a sudden change in her behaviour was a manipulation?”_

_Fury’s stare is hard. “He thought it was a breakthrough,” he replies wryly._

_Phil nods silently before letting out a heavy exhale. “And you want me to talk to her?” he confirms, a bit surprised to have been tasked with such a delicate assignment._

_“You seem to have a knack for handling the troublesome cases.”_

_Phil smiles, remembering Fury tasking him with handling Barton in his early days at SHIELD. “What’s the play?”_

_“First things first - learn what we can about her. I’m under no illusion that she’s going to freely give up everything she knows right away. Lord knows I wouldn't if I were in her shoes.”_

_“What intel are we looking for?”_

_Fury shakes his head. “None. At this point I’d settle for her confirming her damn name. Learning more about **her** is the primary objective. Once she gets more comfortable, we can look to narrow our focus.”_

_“What’s the next step?”_

_“You do realize I just asked you to do what no interrogators have managed to do in the weeks she’s been here, right?”_

_Phil shrugs, a little smile on his face. “I’m an optimist.”_

_Fury shakes his head and scoffs. “It’s in the back of the folder,” he explains, waiting for Phil to flip to it. “It’s not gonna be easy.”_

_“I see that,” Phil says, eyes widening a touch at the sheer list of procedures and tests in store for her._

_“Listen, I know Barton told you the same thing he told me - that he saw something in her that you and I once saw in him. You know him better than I do - do you trust his judgment?”_

_Phil nods. “He’s reckless at times, has a penchant for pushing the boundaries, and has a seriously strong hatred of procedure, but yeah, I trust his judgment.”_

_“Okay,” Fury says with a nod. “This stays need-to-know right now. That means off the books until such time that you and I feel it can be put **onto** the books. Verbal reports directly to me only. Got it?”_

_Phil nods seriously. “Understood, sir.” Normally he liked to stick to procedure, but these were extenuating circumstances, so he agreed wholeheartedly with keeping things under the radar until they were on more stable ground. The blowback from the council would be devastating otherwise._

_Fury nods and then turns on his heel before disappearing quickly down the hallway. Phil turns his attention to the door in front of him before he looks back down at the folder in his hands. It had basically no information on the Black Widow beyond scraps of information that were really more rumours than actual solid facts. The only thing he knew for certain was that Barton told him he was certain that she had **wanted** to die. Phil turns that fact over in his head. That meant that somehow she’d broken at least some of her conditioning. If nothing else, it confirmed to him that there was a human being under all that training and conditioning._

_He takes a moment to button his jacket, straighten his tie, and adjust his ID badge before tucking the folder under his arm and opening up the door._

_“Hi,” he says as he enters the room, having felt her gaze immediately. “I’m Phil,” he adds as he closes the door behind him._

_She remains silent, but her gaze is piercing. Barton had warned him that she was younger than they’d realized, but it was still startling to see a teenager sitting in front of him. To think that she had killed so many people in so few years… And that she had likely experienced enough trauma for several lifetimes..._

_“This is usually the part where you introduce yourself,” he says with a smile to fill the silence. He pauses to allow for a response, but isn’t surprised when there isn’t one. “But I’m gathering you aren’t a talker. That’s okay. Between you and me, I don’t mind. Barton talks enough for a whole team of agents, so the silence is a bit refreshing to be honest.”_

_There’s no outward change in her facial expression, but he’s pretty sure that amused her at least a little. If nothing else, it probably amused Fury, who he was certain was watching the feed._

_“May I sit?” he asks, gesturing to the chair on the other side of the table. She just continues to hold his gaze. “I’m gonna take that as a yes,” he says with a nod as he pulls out the chair. “You want me to uncuff you?”_

_That gets her attention and he spots her eyebrow twitch. The movement is barely perceptible, but it’s there and it’s something to work off of. He smiles knowingly, “I know you could be out of those within seconds if you wanted to, even with the enhanced locking mechanisms and upgraded metal, so why bother, right? This way we don’t break a perfectly good pair of handcuffs that they probably spent a lot more on than they’d like to admit.”_

_“I wouldn’t break them,” she says quietly, her tone a cross between arrogance and amusement. She pushes her hands forward as far as the cuffs allow to let him unlock them._

_“So you do speak,” he says with a tilt of his head as he fishes the key from his pocket and unlocks the cuffs. He just catches the edge of a scar on her wrist and he wonders if the rumours about the Red Room handcuffing their “students” to their beds at night were true._

_“You Americans talk so much, but say so little.”_

_Phil laughs heartily as he sits down. “Yeah, that’s true. You’re more of a strong, silent type, huh?”_

_“Why talk when there’s no need?”_

_“Why’s there no need? I would think there’d be a need for you to talk at least a little.”_

_She leans back and crosses her arms. “And why do you think that, Phil Coulson?”_

_He smirks a little, unsurprised that she’d managed to read his ID tag easily without her ever seeming to break eye contact. “Because you know that you have intel that we want.”_

_“SHIELD may not want it that badly. Who's to say you won't...what is it they say...lock me away and throw away the key?”_

_“Would you be here talking to me if we were going to lock you away?”_

_She eyes him for a long moment. “If I have bargaining power...what is it you think I want?”_

_“Honestly?” Phil asks, head tilting slightly as his eyebrows rise. She gives a tiny nod. “I don’t know.”_

_She huffs out a breath of amusement. “How refreshing. A man who doesn’t have all the answers.”_

_He smiles. “I don’t know what you want, but I’m guessing you definitely **don’t want** whatever it is you were a part of before. Or do agents of the Red Room often engineer the circumstances of their own deaths purposefully?”_

_Her gaze remains hard, but he swears he sees her brow furrow just a touch before she smiles widely. Likely an effort to disarm him, he guesses. “Not that I know of,” is her dry response._

_“I thought not,” he says, glancing down at his watch. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some paperwork to do. Okay if we chat again tomorrow?”_

_“I don’t really have a choice, do I?”_

_“You do,” Phil assures her as he rises to his feet. “If you don’t want to talk, you can stay in your quarters.”_

_Her eyebrows arches. “Is that what SHIELD calls cells?”_

_“I’d hardly call it a cell,” he remarks drily, “and besides, from the little we’ve gathered about the Red Room, I'd say it’s quite an upgrade on the living conditions there.”_

_He sees her eyes harden and he knows he’s hit on something. But as quickly as he sees the flash in her eyes, it’s gone. “We can talk tomorrow,” she says brusquely._

_“Excellent. Now, unfortunately I’m going to need to put these back on. Procedure...I’m sure you understand.”_

_She smirks. “I think you mean the guards are afraid of me.”_

_“That too,” he agrees with a small smile. “I'd appreciate it if you tried not to terrify them too much, Miss…”_

_She eyes him for a long minute before she responds. “Romanova. Natalia Alianovna Romanova.”_

_He smiles. “Miss Romanova. It's a pleasure to meet you,” he says, holding out a hand._

_If she's surprised by his gesture, she doesn't show it, but he suspects she is. She grips his hand tightly before she lets go and then brings her other hand up and holds them both up to allow him to cuff her again. He gestures to the camera in the corner for a guard to enter._

_“I'll see you tomorrow,” he promises, watching as she's led out of the room._

* * *

_“You're back,” she says as she's escorted into the room by a guard._

_“I said I would be,” he says without looking up from the op plan he's working on. He hears the clink of metal on metal as the guard moves to attach her cuffs to the table. “That's not necessary,” he says, glancing up at the guard._

_The guard's gaze shifts to confusion. Phil offers him a smile and the guard acquiesces with a shake of his head and a “it's your funeral” muttered under his breath before leaving the room. Phil refocuses on his paperwork._

_“Do they really think I'm going to kill you?”_

_“Well, are you?” he responds without looking up._

_She scoffs. “What good would it do me? I'd be better off waiting for the director.”_

_“You shouldn't have said that. You're going to make them anxious.”_

_“I already do that just by being here.”_

_Phil holds in a smirk, because she's absolutely right. Even heavily armed, the guards were incredibly wary of her. And rightfully so...but even he had to admit seeing grown men that worried about a teenage girl was amusing on some level. “True.”_

_“Do you always bring paperwork with you to interrogations?” Natasha asks wryly._

_“Who said this was an interrogation?” he replies, still not looking up as he scrawls a few more notes onto the first page in the folder._

_He sees her tilt her head and roll her eyes in his periphery. “Don't insult my intelligence.”_

_“I'm not,” he insists, glancing up for just a second. “The Director asked me to spend some time with you. Get to know you.”_

_“And get the intel I've got,” she finishes._

_Phil looks up then and shakes his head. “Actually, no. Just get to know you.”_

_He holds her gaze as she scrutinizes him, searching for the tell that he's lying. She won't find one because he's not lying. Fury had told him to get to know her. The intel would come later. He smiles warmly before he looks back down at the folder._

_“Why? So we can be friends?” she throws at him sarcastically after a long moment of silence._

_“Only if you want. One-sided friendships are such an emotional drain on a person,” he quips drily._

_They fall into silence then and he looks down again to continue adding notes._

_“You said you supervise Agent Barton,” she says suddenly._

_“Well, no actually, I didn't. But yes, I do from time to time,” he says before looking back down and turning to the next page of the folder in front of him._

_“You two fit.”_

_“So I've been told.”_

_It's quiet then for a moment before her voice breaks the silence. “There's a window here on the third floor that is never locked,” she says, pointing to a spot on the blueprints._

_It takes every ounce of composure he has to not jump at the fact that she's behind him. It was almost creepy how quiet she was. “How do you know that?” he asks, looking up and over his shoulder to find her standing there._

_“It's the security office.The night guard has a bad smoking habit but it's against corporate policy and he doesn't get breaks.”_

_“That didn't answer my question.”_

_She smiles widely. Some might call it a bit menacing, but Phil clocks it as amusement and arrogance. “I know because I stole a year ago what you're allegedly trying to steal now. So either your intelligence is awful, or you're trying to play me.”_

_He smiles. He'd expected her to take longer to catch on. “Guilty,” he admits, flipping the folder closed and leaning back in his chair._

_“I thought I asked you not to insult my intelligence, Agent Coulson,” she says as she walks back around to her own chair, and there's a touch of something dangerous in her tone._

_“I meant no insult. I told you, I want to get to know you. Didn't seem like a game of 'five questions to get to know you' was going to be your style, so I wanted to try a different approach.”_

_“We could play that game if you want,” she purrs, batting her eyelashes teasingly as she leans forward. “I've never played before. Usually **I'm **asking the questions.”_

_Phil shakes his head immediately at her shift into the typical honeypot tactics. He knows the Red Room wouldn't have cared about her age and would have certainly condoned and encouraged such tactics, but to him it's downright wrong to see a child try to sway him sexually. “You don't need to do that.”_

_“Do what?” she asks sweetly._

_“That,” he says, nodding toward her. “The fake sweet routine to get close to a target. And honestly? If you're going to keep doing it, I'm going to leave. I know you're still a child.”_

_“I was never a child,” she says, tone shifting now to tinges of bitterness as she sits back in her chair. But he can tell it's honest._

_He leans forward and interlaces his fingers. “No, I imagine you weren't. And I'm sorry for that.”_

_“I don't want your pity.”_

_“It's not pity.”_

_“Then what is it?”_

_“Empathy.”_

_She falls silent then._

_“Do you want to talk again tomorrow?” he asks._

_He sees something in her eyes as she scrutinizes him, but he can't quite put a name to it. “Yes.”_

_“Then I'll see you tomorrow, Miss Romanova.”_

* * *

_The pattern continued on for a week before he was able to get anything out of her, or perhaps more accurately - until she chose to give him something._

_Natalia stares down at the folder he's put in front of her before looking up at him again. “No tricks this time,” he promises. “What can you tell me about this place?”_

_“There's access to the basement through an old tunnel,” she says casually. “It's accessible through a bookstore down the street.” She quiets as her fingers drift over the map slowly before stopping to tap on a store halfway down the block. “The owner doesn't check the store on the weekends, and doesn't have any surveillance.”_

_Phil pulls back the folder and makes a few notes. “And how do you know this?”_

_“I was sent to kill an enemy of the Red Room there last year.”_

_“Okay,” he says with a nod. “Thank you.”_

_Something flickers in her expression and suddenly she's lost the harder edges of her mask. “Ask me your questions,” she instructs. “The ones you want to know.”_

_“How old are you?” he asks, opting to wade gently into things and see if she’s actually going to share anything. He’s not holding his breath on that, but she’s already surprised him on other occasions..._

_She surprises him by actually answering. “I don't know. They took me when I was young. I don't remember before.”_

_He holds in his reaction and presses on. “Birthday?”_

_She shrugs. “We all moved up to the new year at the same time.”_

_“Are there others like you?”_

_“A few from the classes before me,” she answers with a nod. “No one else from my class.”_

_“Why did you want to die?”_

_“I'm tired,” she answers simply._

_He hesitates before asking the next question, because it's a big one. “What do you want?”_

_“I want it out,” she says, tapping her head. She pauses then, her expression thoughtful. “And I want to try to be better. To wipe out red from my ledger.”_

_Phil files that away, because it’s clear she’s given an honest answer. “Will you tell us what you know?”_

_“That was already five questions,” she replies with a smile curling on her lips as she references his mention of the ‘game’ from earlier in the week. “And anyway, I can't tell you much,” she says, tapping her head again._

_The implication is clear - there's enough conditioning still there to prevent her from spilling any real secrets._

_“Would you like us to help you with that?”_

_He thinks maybe she looks a little hesitant. “Agent Barton said SHIELD is different from the Red Room.” Phil nods. “How different?”_

_Phil tilts his head as he considers her question. “We're an organization that tries to help people with the threats they don't know about, and the things they can't understand. We operate in a morally grey area sometimes, yes, but our agents have a choice. We don't force them to do anything.” He pauses to let his words sink in for a moment. “Other than the occasional debrief and paperwork,” he adds with a small smile before sobering back into a serious expression again. “But let me be clear. We have rules and regulations, but they exist to **help** people. We kill as a last resort, not a first option, and only when absolutely necessary.”_

_“That **is** different,” she confirms. Phil just nods. “And SHIELD can use me?”_

_“We could use your talents, yes,” he amends. It's a small thing, but words matter. And to someone who picks up on the smallest of details, he knows it's especially important to her._

_“Then yes. But I have a few conditions.”_

_He smiles gently. “I’m listening.”_

_“I know everything that's going to be done to me ahead of time.”_

_Phil nods seriously. That she has to lay that demand out makes his stomach churn._

_“I want to take down the Red Room.”_

_He nods again. “So do we. Once you're situated we can look to allocate resources to help with gathering intel, and possibly put together a task force.”_

_She nods her acceptance of his answer. “And I don't want to be Natalia anymore.”_

_Phil frowns in confusion._

_“I want a new identity,” she clarifies._

_He nods. “We can do that. Do you know who you want to be?”_

_She shakes her head._

_“Think about it. But remember that you don't have to always throw out everything,” he advises. “Maybe Natalia can be a foundation for the new you to grow from.”_

_She hums a noncommittal response before she leans back in her chair. “When do we start?”_

_He smiles. “We just did.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts on Natasha's introduction to SHIELD? Enjoy seeing how Phil handled her in those early days? Other comments? Let me know. :)
> 
> (Also - just a reminder that if you're digging this story, I now have another one called Conversational Junctures that is the same format but covers everything before the Snap. Check it out if you wish!)
> 
> Hope everyone is staying safe!


	31. How About Dinner?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve pops in to check on Natasha, and we see the origin of his 'I'd offer to cook you dinner but you seem pretty miserable already' comment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because to me, when I heard that comment in the film, it just seemed like there was some history behind it.
> 
> enjoy.

Steve reaches the doorway just as he hears Natasha let out a frustrated sigh. He watches as she drops the tablet she’d been staring at intently onto the desk roughly, the clang of the metal on glass reverberating through the otherwise quiet room. She pushes her chair away from the desk and tips her body forward, elbows leaning on her knees as her head falls into her hands and her fingers thread roughly into her hair.

“You okay?” Steve asks while leaning against the frame and watching her with a concerned expression. _ She looks exhausted...even more so than usual _he thinks to himself as she looks up and meets his gaze. The bags under her eyes are the most obvious sign, but he can see exhaustion in her other features too.

“Yeah,” she replies, waving off his concern and leaning back in her chair.

“You wanna try that again?” he challenges with a tip of his chin toward her. Even someone who barely knew her would’ve been able to clock that as a lie.

She scrubs her hands over her face. “Dead end,” she offers in explanation.

His expression twists in understanding. Before he’d started spending more time in the city, the two of them had spent almost all their waking hours poring over every bit of information they could find trying to find a way to bring everyone back. They’d been awake early and up late every day, exploring every possible avenue they could think of to find _ something _. But as they began to exhaust their sources, he’d grown more restless and resigned to the fact that maybe there just wasn’t a way to fix it. Nat had been steadfastly focused though, continuing to find scraps of info here and there to research exhaustively.

And she’d taken on the responsibility of being the point person for the _ galaxy’s _ defences, coordinating Carol, and Rocket and Nebula in space, and Rhodey, and Okoye here on Earth. He’d helped with that at first, stepping in to diffuse chaotic and dangerous situations that popped up across the world. But his heart hadn’t been in it, so he’d stepped back once things fell into a steady rhythm. He moved out of the Compound and back into the city even if it weren’t the familiar home he’d once known. He started up some support groups in honour of Sam, and he volunteered at a few local shelters by his apartment because it felt like the least he could do. The distance from the things that reminded him of the Avengers and their failure to stop Thanos had helped a bit. Or maybe it was the time that had passed...he honestly didn’t know.

He still came back to check on Nat at least once a month though. Self-care wasn’t exactly a high priority for her, so he worried that she’d work herself to grave. He knew she focused on the research, and the coordinating of defences and intelligence analysis, and pushing the paper for the foundation she started with Pepper for the orphans, because she didn’t want to face the trauma and emotions swirling around inside her. He doesn’t blame her though. After all, he’d effectively run away from it all by moving into the city.

Steve realizes suddenly he hasn’t said anything back to her and opens his mouth to suggest maybe she take a break, but she cuts him off before he can utter a syllable. “Don’t,” she warns, but the tone lacks the bite it would’ve once had.

He sighs because _ of course _ she knew what he’d been about to say. “Nat, it’s been-”

“I said don’t,” she repeats stubbornly, eyes hardening just a touch and he sees the briefest flash of the Black Widow. But as quickly as it flashes there, it’s gone and replaced with the slightly hollow look he’s used to now.

“I’m not saying give up entirely.”

“Well that’s what it sounds like you’re saying,” she accuses. There’s still no real bite to her tone, but there’s a whole fabric of emotions there he can’t parse out.

He holds up his hands. “I just-” A heavy sigh. “You haven’t found a single lead of _ anything _ we could do.”

“I haven’t exhausted everything yet.”

“It’s been months, Nat,” he offers gently as he pushes off the door frame and enters the room.

“What, you want me to take a vacation?” she bites back, this time with a thread of anger for real.

“If it’ll get you to take care of yourself, then yes,” he says firmly, sitting down in the chair across from her desk. He spots her gym bag with her pointe shoes hanging off one of the straps and he wonders how long her dancing sessions are lasting nowadays.

She shakes her head gently. “Steve,” she says, and he hears the faintest tremble in her voice that has him doing a double take because it’s not often she’s _ this _ rattled. “I need this.”

He sighs. He gets it. Everyone needs something to keep their mind on, so it won’t wander to everyone who isn’t with them and _ why _ they aren’t with them. “How about dinner?” he bargains. “I’ll cook.”

* * *

“When’s the last time you got groceries?” he asks as they enter the kitchen side by side.

“I think Rhodey brought some stuff when he was here on Friday.”

“Good,” Steve says in relief. He knows fresh food wasn’t exactly a priority for her these days, so he’d been worried that he wouldn’t have anything to cook.

“I’m not completely useless in the kitchen you know,” she chastises, apparently having sussed out the source of his alleviated concern.

“You say that, but I’ve yet to see any evidence,” he teases, hoping to draw out some of that patented snark and wit he’d grown used to over the years.

A smile curls on her lips. “I’ll have you know I’m told I make a mean mac and cheese, according to-” she stops abruptly as she realizes what she’s saying, and the smile falls away.

He lets the silence linger for a moment before he speaks. “It’s okay to talk about them, Nat,” he says softly.

She shakes her head once and he sees a twisting of guilt and anger in her features. “I hadn’t seen them in awhile.”

He knows this. First it had been training and helping him lead the new Avengers team after Ultron that took up her time, then the team’s internal conflict over the Accords, and then being on the run with him, Sam, and Wanda. Clint had argued with her after they’d broken him and the others out of the Raft, telling her she could come home with him. She’d hugged him fiercely and then pushed him away, insisting it was safer if she stayed away. Clint had tried to argue further, insisting she could keep in touch so long as they were careful, but Nat had been stubborn and that steely gaze had entered her eyes as she’d told him it wasn’t worth the risk. The time away and out of contact with them had weighed heavily on her, despite how much she’d tried to hide it. And then when she’d found out the Bartons were victims of Thanos’ actions...

“Wish I hadn’t put off all those visits before the team split apart,” she continues in a rare show of regret. It wasn’t like her to outwardly linger on what could have been, she tended to be more logical and practical about things.

Steve just nods because there really isn’t anything that he can say that’s reassuring or helpful.

Her gaze hardens and she stands up a bit straighter. “I’m going to hit the gym for a bit.”

“Okay,” he concedes reluctantly. “But don’t be late for dinner.”

She offers a tiny smile. “And miss a meal from the famous Captain America? I wouldn’t dare.”

She’s gone before he can say anything in reply, but her words echo in his mind, the hollow tone bouncing around in a reminder that she’s far from the person he’d first met. Then again, they were all far from the people they’d been all those years ago.

* * *

Steve figures out he’s got the ingredients to throw together a pasta bake and so he starts putting it together. It isn’t anything fancy, but he’s made it before a couple times and Sam and Rhodey had both assured him it was tasty enough, so hopefully it would fit the bill.

_ Probably the first real food she’s had in weeks _, he thinks as he pushes the dish into the oven, knowing her tendency to rely on the simple meals like sandwiches and cereal. He sets the timer on the oven and then makes his way over to Nat’s desk. He finds a few books that he recognizes from their earlier researching sessions and a tablet with an ongoing scroll of compiled police reports from across the globe. He swipes through a few of them, dismissing them as nothing out of the ordinary, but there’s one that was clearly flagged by some sort of parameters she has set up. It’s a grisly murder of a few gang members on the east coast with a whole lot of overkill. He wonders why she’s keeping an eye out for those ones in particular but shrugs it off. It was Nat - she was probably putting together puzzle pieces none of them would have seen otherwise.

He glances at his watch and realizes she’s been gone for almost an hour. He knows she tends to push the limits of her workouts when she’s in this kind of headspace, not unlike himself, and so he makes his way to the training room to check on her. He hears the music long before he reaches the room and not just because of his enhanced hearing. It’s loud and fast, almost frenetic, and he has a hard time picturing any sort of dance moves that would suit it, let alone the graceful twirls of her preferred _ ballet _. He pushes open the door gently and moves to slip inside, but the music cuts off abruptly and he knows he’s been caught.

“Sorry,” he apologizes quickly, feeling a bit guilty to have intruded.

She waves him off as she makes her way across the room to the bench. He follows and sits down beside her as she begins to unwrap the satin wound around her ankles. He’s a bit surprised to find her breathing so even, given the obvious workout she’d just finished. Her face is reddened from the exertion, and there’s sweat just about dripping off her...and yet her breathing isn’t heavy at all.

He watches as she finishes unwrapping her right shoe and slides it off, dropping it onto the ground. She wiggles her toes a few times and he wonders if they go numb from all the strain put on them.

“Does that hurt your feet?” he asks, noticing the flat portion at the front of the shoe. He doesn’t know much about ballet, but he knows they stand on their toes from time to time - something that’s always baffled him.

She shrugs. “You get used to it.”

He wonders exactly how long it takes to get used to that. Weeks? Months? Years?

“You didn’t have to stop. Dinner’s not gonna be ready for-”

“It’s fine, Steve,” she says, slipping off the left shoe and repeating the motion of wiggling her toes. He can see the bruising already starting, and he guesses she gets the same satisfaction from the pain that he gets in his hands when he works a punching bag too long.

“I’m just saying, I’ll go if you want to keep going.” She turns to look at him, a skeptical expression on her face. “What?” he asks.

“You, encouraging me to continue _ overtraining _,” she explains with a shake of her head. “Stop coddling me, Rogers. I’m fine.”

He sighs. “Old habits,” he offers, holding up his hands in innocence.

“I’ve always hated that excuse,” she mutters as she shoves her shoes into her gym bag and then begins walking determinedly toward the door. 

Steve watches her walk away and he sighs as he drops his head into his hands. They were, all of them, changed by Thanos’ actions. But Nat had taken on so much of the responsibility that they’d been unable to fix it that she was struggling under the weight of that failure. It wasn’t hers to hold alone, not by any means, but while the rest of them were moving on, she remained in the Compound soldiering on. A small part of him was proud of her continued dedication, but mostly he was saddened that she wasn’t _ living. _

Frustration courses through him as the realization that he doesn’t know how to help her settles once again. She’d never been one for talking, and there wasn’t a concrete solution he could offer her for how they can fix things. Steve sighs again as he wonders, not for the first time, if Sam would have known what to do.

Steve gets up and heads over to the punching bags in the corner of the room, feeling the need to work out some of the frustration. The dull sting on his knuckles feels good, and he puts a bit more force behind it as he starts using both hands. The strain on his now less often used muscles feels good, and he can’t help but lean into the workout. 

* * *

“Captain Rogers!”

Steve shakes himself out of his workout-induced reverie at the sound of the familiar AI’s voice.

“Yeah?” he huffs out between breaths.

“Your meal is burning,” FRIDAY tells him, and he thinks the tone is just a bit exasperated. “I’ve turned the oven off, but the dish inside will continue to-”

“Yeah, I know,” he says, cutting the AI off. “I’m going, I’m going.”

By the time he reaches the kitchen, he can see the smoke inside the oven and when he opens the door it floods out into the room. “FRIDAY, can you-”

“Turning on fans and opening the nearby windows.”

“Thank you,” he says as he pulls out the burnt to a crisp dish. He drops the dish down onto the counter with a bit more force than intended out and it cracks. _ Well isn’t that the cherry on top? _ he thinks bitterly.

“I don’t think it was the dish’s fault.”

He turns and finds Nat standing in the doorway.

“I’m sorry, Nat. I got carried away in the gym. Didn’t hear FRIDAY telling me I’d missed my timer.”

“Don’t worry about it, Steve.”

“No, Nat, you’ve got enough to worry about and now I’ve ruined dinner and your kitch-”

“Par for the course, really,” she says, a tiny slice of bitterness seeping through in her tone. “Luck hasn’t exactly been on our side recently has it?”

“FRIDAY, can we get anything delivered here?” he asks.

“Yes, but security protocols dictate you’ll need to meet them at the gate.”

“That’s fine,” he says before turning to face Nat. “What do you feel like?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know...pizza?” she offers, and he can’t help but cringe because he’d really hoped to get some _ nutritious _ food into her. “Okay, not pizza,” she says when she sees his expression. “You choose then,” she instructs. “I’ve got some work to do.”

His expression falls as she heads over to her desk and resumes the hunched over posture she’d had when he first arrived.

_ So much for brightening her mood _, he curses to himself before taking out his phone to search for nearby takeout places that were still open.

* * *

He ended up putting in a large order at a local mom and pop shop that he remembered ordering from years before that had a bunch of cuisines on offer. 

“Food’s on the way. They said half an hour or so,” he explains as he slumps into the chair across from her.

“Okay,” she answers distractedly, eyes glued to the tablet in her hands as she scrolled through some information of some kind.

“Nat,” he says as he leans forward and reaches across to push the tablet down.

“What?” she says, looking up to meet his gaze.

“Talk to me,” he implores.

“I’m not some person at your support group, Steve.”

“No, you’re my friend.”

She glares at him for a moment, perhaps hoping it would be enough to deter him, but he’s just as stubborn as she is and holds his ground. She relents finally and drops the tablet onto the desk before rubbing at her eyes.

“How are you doing?”

“How do you think?” she snips with real bite to her words.

“I know,” he says patiently. “But, relatively speaking.”

“I’m fine.”

“Wanna try that again?” he instructs, mimicking his words from earlier. He’s not letting her off that easily.

“No,” she says flatly.

“Nat,” he sighs in exasperation.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Steve. Life is going on, except for the fact that we can’t fucking fix what was our fault in the first place.”

“Nat, there was nothing more we could have done.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” he counters, “because we’ve hashed it out a thousand times. Maybe we decide to destroy the stone without trying to remove it from Vision. You really think Wanda would’ve gone for that?”

“I-”

“Maybe we’re all together and Tony, the sorcerer, and the spider kid aren’t in space. You really think they would’ve been enough to turn the tide in Wakanda?”

“Steve-”

“Maybe Thor goes for the head. Who’s to say one of Thanos’ minions doesn’t take up the cause? They outnumbered us a hundred to one. Who’s to say we even survive that battle?”

“STEVE!” she yells.

He stares at her, trying to get her to understand that all of it doesn’t rest on her shoulders. That even if they could go back, changing something wouldn’t necessarily be feasible.

“I get it. But it doesn’t mean we can’t find a way to-”

“Nat, we searched for months. And you’ve been searching for even longer and you haven’t had any luck. Do you honestly think that you’re going to find something?”

He doesn’t know where his sharp tone and accusations came from, but he can see from the look on her face that he’s pushed too far.

“Well at least I’m doing something. At least I didn’t run away.” Her voice is low, sharp, and laced with a bitterness that leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

“At least I leave my house now and again.” He doesn’t understand why he’s unloading his frustration on her. He knows it isn’t fair.

“Compound’s a big place. I seem to recall we both went days without leaving it in those days of training after Ultron.”

He lets out a heavy exhale. She’s right. And it was out of line to throw the accusation at her. “I’m sorry, Nat,” he says softly, hoping she hears the truth in his tone. “I just hate seeing you like this.”

She bristles. “Yeah, well I can’t be any other way. So get used to it.”

He opens his mouth to reply but FRIDAY cuts him off. “The delivery car is approaching.”

“I’ll get it,” she says, rising to her feet and immediately heading for the door quickly. Steve is left watching her figure disappear down the hallway and wondering just how the hell it all went so wrong so quickly and if there was any way he could fix it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy and eager to hear any/all thoughts on this. comments always motivate me to carve out more time to write. :)
> 
> (apologies for the delay between updates. work's picked up again, so my writing time has cut down significantly.)
> 
> hoping everyone is staying safe and well.
> 
> more to come.


	32. No Offence, But You Stink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony has some people he wants Natasha to meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because there's just something about the Tony-Natasha friendship that I can't seem to leave alone.
> 
> enjoy.

"Nat?" Tony calls out as he looks around the common area and kitchen of the Compound. There's no sight of her so he walks over to the intercom and activates it. "Nat, you here?" He pauses to let her respond, but he's met with silence. _ Curse her insistence on no AI in the life-after-death Compound _he grumbles to himself.

He makes his way further into the facility, figuring if she isn't out on the dock, in the kitchen, her room, or the common area, then it's a safe bet she's in the gym. _ If she's even here _ his mind tacks on, well aware that she could be exploring any part of the endless world they found themselves in now, after death. But as far as he knows she's been sticking closer to home, so he's pretty sure she's in the Compound somewhere...

As he gets closer to the gym he hears the telltale thumps of a punching bag, and he knows for sure that he's found her. He stops at the doorway to watch her for a bit. Her form is still impeccable and she looks every bit the terrifyingly agile, strong, and crafty fighter she'd been while alive. He knows that she had to work hard then to keep in shape, not having the safety net of a super soldier serum, demigod lineage, a green rage monster hiding beneath the surface, the distance afforded by archery, or a highly advanced tech suit to fall back on. Why she feels the need to keep up that fitness in a world with no enemies, he isn't quite sure.

"You're testing my restraint by standing there for so long, Tony."

He laughs at her half-threat. "What are you gonna do? Kill me?"

He swears he can _ hear _ her roll her eyes. "All the people in the world, and I'm stuck in an afterlife with you."

"You love me," he says as he strolls into the room and heads over to the punching bag where she's still standing.

"Debatable."

"Well then let's debate," he says, leaning forward to hold the bag steady for her.

"Little busy here," she says, throwing a nasty left hook that has him very thankful there's a bag between her fist and his face. He tilts his head in a silent 'really?' motion and she just grins and throws a quick few jabs unapologetically.

"I see that. But I'm sorta wondering why… I mean, no bad guys here to fight, so...whatcha training for, Million Dollar Baby?"

She scoffs. "Do I need a reason?"

"No," he admits, "but I think that's the actual reason why you're here."

"You get a psych degree sometime between dying and today?" she lobs back as she throws another few quick jabs at the bag.

He knows what Natasha is like when she's not game to verbally spar, and what she's like when she's well and truly angry. She's presently neither, so he pushes on. "Nice deflection," he quips just as she swings a leg up to hit the side of the bag, which he just manages to dodge. "Nice, Nat," he tuts, this time voicing his judgment aloud. "Real nice."

"There a reason you're interrupting my workout?"

"Yes, actually. You busy?" She stops her punching and drops her hands to her sides as she tilts her head and looks at him incredulously. "No?" he assesses with a cheeky grin. "Excellent. Get cleaned up, would ya? No offence, but you stink. And as a former spy, I know you're aware of the importance of first impressions."

"And who is it you think you're going to introduce me to?"

He grins. "My parents."

Her expression shifts and for just a moment he thinks he sees some vulnerability, but it's gone in a flash and replaced with her scrutinizing gaze. "And why am I meeting your parents?"

"Because I want them to meet you."

"Why?"

He huffs out an exhale. "Because you're my friend. And as we covered in our last couple classes, you're a part of my family. Don't make me assign you homework, Nat," he tuts with a grin.

Her mouth twists in a visible show of uncertainty. "I don't know, Tony."

_ Does she really not understand I want to introduce them to one of my closest friends? _

"If you're worried about them not liking you, I'd throw that thought right out the window because you literally sacrificed yourself for the greater good. You saved trillions. Nobody can hate you. It's like hating a puppy. That's also, coincidentally, why no one can hate me now either."

She stays quiet, her gaze assessing him for something he isn't privy to. "What's the dress code?" she asks finally.

His face splits into a grin at her acceptance, no matter how reluctant. "It's not like we're going out for dinner at the-"

"Tony," she interrupts firmly as she levels a steely look of warning at him.

"Whatever," he answers with a shrug. "Casual, not casual, you pick. Doesn't really matter. Hell, go in your birthday suit if you-"

"Is that what you're wearing?" she interrupts him again, eyes glancing over him swiftly.

He glances down at his comfortable jeans and T-shirt. "You know, whenever Pepper said that I knew I had to change. Is that a woman thing, or…" he trails off as he sees her expression which is, to put it lightly, severely unimpressed. He decides to cut his losses, because he's still standing close to the punching bag and her hands are still wrapped, not to mention she'd already shown she had no problem throwing punches and kicks close to his face. "Ooooookay, I'm changing."

* * *

"You're not nervous are you?" Tony asks, glancing over at her in the passenger seat.

"I thought you told me I had no reason to be," she says as she turns to face him. He finds a curious expression on her face that's a mix of that uncertainty he'd seen earlier and a classic Agent Romanoff arched eyebrow.

"Well, yeah, but that doesn't mean you believed me."

She seems to relax at that. "I'm here, aren't I?" she challenges, a little smile curling on her lips.

"True, and I don't think there's anything I could say or do that would convince the Black Widow to do something she doesn't want to."

Nat smiles but it's clear to Tony that it's just a polite one. What he said had made her pensive, and he wonders if maybe she doesn't want to be the Black Widow anymore. He'd come out and owned his identity as Iron Man, but he'd also been the one to create it. She hadn't been afforded that same luxury. He wouldn't go so far as to say that she regretted being the Black Widow - after all, the Black Widow had helped save trillions of beings across the universe - but maybe she just wanted to be Natasha Romanoff now. And he could understand that, because for a long time when he was a kid he'd just wanted to be Tony, rather than Tony Stark. Hell, even _ now _ he preferred just being Tony, even if Iron Man had been the one to save the universe in his final act.

"Thank you," she says, startling him out of his thoughts. He turns into the driveway for his parents' house and parks the car before turning to face her with a creased brow. "For this," she clarifies, and he still finds himself a little puzzled. Is she grateful because she knows this is important to him? Or because she's still grappling with their new reality and she could use a distraction? Or because she needed an excuse to get out of that huge Compound?

She doesn't offer any further explanation and he doesn't press, instead electing to just smile, hopefully reassuringly. He hops out of the car and has half a thought to go open the car door for her, but she's already out by the time he gets to the front of the car. Instead, he holds out an arm theatrically. She rolls her eyes and huffs out a little laugh but she does loop her arm through his and allow him to lead them up to the front door.

"Last chance to make a play for the exit," he teases.

"I'm a little offended you think I wouldn't be able to engineer an exit later."

"Well, you can't exactly use the excuse of a potential world-ending event."

"True," she agrees with a laugh. "But I have my ways."

"You're underestimating my mother's keen eye for seeing through bullshit. How else do you think she put up with my dad?"

He raises his free hand to knock on the door, and then turns to face her. "Don't worry, Nat. They're gonna love you."

She smiles, though he swears he sees a bit of unease in her features. It's then that he realizes she's probably not met anyone's parents before. Or anyone's family besides Clint's.

"Tony!" his mom says with a wide smile as the door opens and she spots him.

"Hey, Mom."

"C'mere," she says quickly, opening up her arms for a hug.

He obliges and then steps back. "Mom, this is Natasha Romanoff. Friend, fellow former Avenger, and one of the few people to outwit me."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," his mom says warmly, holding out a hand. It's a little surprising to him that she went for the handshake since she'd always been a hugger, but she'd also always been good at reading people.

Natasha smiles as she takes the hand held out and shakes it. "The pleasure's mine."

"Please, come on in. I thought we could sit outside since the weather's so nice. Unless you'd prefer to-"

"Outside is fine," Natasha answers and Tony can't help but smile because the tone is one he remembers from her time as Natalie Rushman. Prim, proper, and painfully polite.

He leans in to whisper a "relax" into her ear before gesturing for her to go ahead as they follow his mom to the back deck. She deftly manages to flick his cheek with a surprising amount of force while shooting him a quick look of warning. He knew he'd overstepped with telling her to relax, but it was worth it to see some of her spark return.

When they reach the deck, she claims one of the chairs and he sits beside his mom on one of the couches.

"So, Natasha," his mom begins, a warm smile spreading across her face once more, "Tony's told us a little about you, but we both know it's better to get the information straight from the source, since he tends to… Well…"

"Be Tony?" Nat offers with a slightly raised eyebrow and beginnings of a smile to emphasize her point.

"I was going to say he tends to be forgetful of those things and people not directly concerning him, but that works too."

"Hey, I'm right here. And mildly offended. I didn’t forget to tell you about-"

"Hush, dear. Natasha and I are talking."

Tony's eyes roll as he lets out a scoff. "She's here for like 2 minutes and already I'm chopped liver. Unbelievable."

"What's unbelievable?" his dad says as he appears in the doorway.

"Howard, this is Natasha Romanoff, one of Tony's friends and teammates."

"She needs no introduction," he says, holding out a hand as she rises to her feet. "Tony and Peggy told us what you did. Incredibly brave."

Nat's smile is weary and a bit forced, but she shakes his hand and says a quick "thank you" before sitting back down. Tony can't help but bring his hands up to cover his face at his dad's direct jump into touchy territory. Even _ he _ knew to step carefully around that stuff.

"Honestly, Howard. All this time and you still can't read a room," his mom chastises.

"What?"

"Of all the things to lead with, you go with the circumstances of her death?" Tony says with a shake of his head.

Howard shrugs. "We're in the afterlife. As far as I'm concerned, discussion of death is fair game."

"It's fine," Nat offers diplomatically. "He's not wrong."

"See, she's fine with it. Now, Tony tells me you worked for SHIELD?"

"Yes, as an agent."

"I hear you were with Captain Rogers when he took down Hydra?"

Tony sees Nat sit up just a little taller, and the briefest flash of something crosses her face. _ Maybe she's irked Cap gets all the credit, when she's the one who released everything? I should really get some more details on that whole situation... _

"Yes, with some others." Tony can’t hide his smirk at her slightly pointed words. _ How diplomatic _.

"Then I owe you twice over. Saved the universe, and brought down the piece of shit organization that infiltrated SHIELD."

"Howard!"

"What? We're all dead, what are we supposed to talk about? The weather? I'm just saying, it's impressive."

Tony watches his mom's face fall into her hands in exasperation, and he thinks that Pepper would probably have a unique understanding of how she's feeling.

"Honestly, it's fine," Nat says, again playing diplomat. "I did help crash two helicarriers into the Potomac and leak decades' worth of files and intelligence onto the internet. So he's not wrong, I am impressive," she finishes with a grin that Tony recognizes, but hasn't seen for some time. This is the Natasha Romanoff whose biting wit rivaled his own, and who had just enough understated swagger to drive fear into the hearts of people everywhere.

"I like her, Tony," his dad says with a laugh.

* * *

"So...scale of 1 to 'I need fear for my welfare' how bad was it?" Tony asks once his parents disappear inside to prepare dinner, turning to face Nat.

A smile curls on her lips that Tony recognizes as a genuine one. The conversation _ had _ flowed into a much smoother and less blunt one, but he didn't want to presume anything. "It wasn't bad, Tony. Not at all. It's nice to meet them. I know they died when you were young, but physical resemblances aside, I see a lot of them in you."

"Really? I mean, everyone's always said I take after Dad, but-"

"You do, but there's a lot of your mom too. Your fierce loyalty and how you love people...that's all her."

After a lifetime of being compared to the great Howard Stark, her telling him he took after his mom too...it warmed his heart. "I think that might be one of the nicest things anyone has ever said about me."

"Well, take a mental picture then, because I don't throw those out often," she quips, ruining his moment.

"Don't I know it! Like pulling teeth to get anything out of you usually."

She smiles again and then gets up to lean on the deck's railing and look out over the backyard. Tony knows that she is fully aware he's watching her and he feels lucky that she's granting him this glimpse into her normally very guarded reactions.

"Penny for your thoughts," he says as he gets up to join her, opting to lean back against the railing next to her and face the house. He turns his head to watch her reaction and finds a thoughtful expression on her face.

"After SHIELD fell, I disappeared for a bit." He nods, remembering that Steve had mentioned she was going on hiatus. "Had some business to attend to with some folks who thought starting up the Red Room again was a good idea, and then I went back to Russia to try and find my parents."

He blinks in surprise because he really hadn't expected that answer. "You find 'em?"

"Maybe," she hedges, her eyes wandering over the backyard and steadfastly avoiding meeting his gaze.

His brow crinkles. "Maybe?"

She turns to look at him now, granting him a further look into what she usually held so close to the vest. "Records from then aren't exactly the most accurate or complete. But I think it was them. Two gravestones in a lonely graveyard surrounded by a chain link fence." She turns to look back out over the yard. "I couldn't even find a picture."

He stays quiet, sensing she has more to say.

"I see you with your parents now and recognize how much of them is in your actions and mannerisms, and I wonder…" she trails off.

"Nature versus nurture," he sums up her unspoken thoughts.

"Mm," she agrees with a hum.

"You thinking about trying to find them? I'm sure they're here somewhere…"

She shakes her head. "I don't know."

"I'll help if you want," he offers. He knows she doesn't have many people here in the afterlife and therefore could definitely use the support, but even if that weren't true he'd still have offered. She deserves closure and peace after the life she'd been forced to lead.

"Thank you," she says, sparing a quick glance at him, "but I don't think I'm quite ready to open that can of worms."

He lets her words linger for a moment before he adds one last thought when he sees his parents heading back their way. "For what it's worth, whoever and wherever they are, they missed out on one hell of a daughter." He reaches over and gives her hand a squeeze, offering some support.

She smiles, but then seems to sense the impending end to their privacy as she stands up straight. "God, this place is making me-"

"Less Black Widow-y?" he suggests.

Her response is to flick him, again with a surprising amount of force, and then turn her charm back on for his parents, who have returned with plates of food.

He watches as she swiftly offers to grab a plate from his mom, and slips into the role that he figures Clint and his family had seen regularly at the Barton farmhouse. This, he thinks, might be his first _ real _ glimpse at Natasha Romanoff, away from the responsibilities and duties of agent, Avenger, and Black Widow. Tony can't help but think that of all the different sides of Natasha he's seen, from Natalie Rushman, to motivated SHIELD agent, to stubborn leader of the patchwork Avengers post-Thanos, this one is the most special.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's something so intriguing to me about having these two particular characters delve into the knowns and unknowns of where they came from.
> 
> thoughts? comments? suggestions?
> 
> let me know. :)


	33. A Sizeable Swig of Vodka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol returns to Earth after months away to find a contemplative Natasha on the dock with a bottle of vodka.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because I believe the two of them had a lot to talk about, and I'm sad we didn't get to see it.
> 
> enjoy.

Carol slows her descent as the Avengers Compound comes into view and lets out a heavy exhale. It had been a long few months of travelling and dealing with a myriad of issues popping up on planets across the various galaxies, so when Natasha had suggested during one of their virtual meetings that she take a break and come back to visit, she'd agreed almost instantly. Yes, she feels a duty to protect, and yes, she knows there are few if anyone else who can do what she can, but she also knows that she'd started to burn out and a break had sounded like exactly what she needed.

That, and Natasha's words of "you're no good to anyone burned out" had hit the mark _ irritatingly _ accurately.

Her eyes sweep over the facility and surrounding land out of habit and she easily spots the figure on the dock despite the relative darkness that the recently set sun had left. Her brow furrows as she adjusts her course and heads toward it. Rhodey was on a trip in Europe, Banner was off in a lab somewhere, and Rogers had moved into the city, so this could only be Natasha.

_ Odd _, she thinks as she gets close enough to confirm her deduction. It wasn't often Natasha ventured out of the facility, at least not according to Rhodey.

"Hey, Danvers," Natasha calls out just as Carol's feet touch down on the grass at the edge of the dock. 

"Hey, Romanoff," she replies as she lets her powers ebb away and moves her neck side to side to ease some of the stiffness that had settled there from hours of flying. She makes her way to the end of the dock where Natasha is sitting with her feet dangling in the water, and spots the nearly half empty bottle of vodka beside her. She can't help the smirk from spreading across her lips. "Guess my invitation got lost in the mail, huh?"

Natasha twists to look at her and frowns in confusion for just a second before her eyes spot Carol's flicked gaze to the bottle and she connects the dots. Her lips twist into a smirk. "You know how it is," she drawls, hand waving for emphasis, "inter-world postal service isn't what it used to be."

Carol lets out a chuckle as she takes a seat next to Natasha. "Guess not."

"So, you don't call, you don't write… If I didn't know better, I'd say you were avoiding us," Natasha quips. 

Carol feels the heat of her gaze for just a moment before it drifts back out over the water. The tone isn't accusatory, but she hears the accusation all the same and Carol's lips twist in an expression of shame. It had been almost a month since Natasha had suggested she take a break and she knows she should've touched base with her or _ someone _ on the team, but she'd needed time to sort some things out before she could step back from her duties for a bit.

"It's fine," Natasha says with a dismissive wave of her hand, having noticed Carol's expression. "No judgment. Just making an observation."

"I'm here now."

"So you are," she agrees with a nod, swinging her legs a little, making ripples cascade outward on the otherwise mostly still surface of the water. Carol watches as she grabs the bottle and takes a sip straight from it before she sets it back down.

"How much of that have you had?"

Natasha turns and arches an eyebrow. "I'm sober enough, officer."

Carol's hands rise in a show of innocence, but she's amused by the retort. It was the kind of thing Fury would've said back in the day. "Just a question."

Natasha seems to consider it for a moment before she apparently decides it really _ hadn't _ been a judgment. "Not drunk enough," she offers with a smile that's all sorts of emotions and yet somehow void of them too.

_ Still...drunk _ e _ nough for me to be seeing some emotions _, Carol muses. Even if the fallout from Thanos' snap and subsequent failed mission to get the stones had left Natasha grappling for footing in a wholly uncertain world, she had mostly retreated into a stoic and focused state. Carol knew little about the Avenger, but knew enough to recognize pain didn't manifest in her with tears or overt anger. And she knew enough to recognize an accomplished compartmentalizer when she saw one.

Carol's brow crinkles slightly as she wonders how it was that Natasha had come to be on the original Avengers team in the first place. She knew about Stark and his tech suit, Banner and his monster lurking beneath the surface, Thor and his Asgardian strength, and Rogers and his super-human physique. But Romanoff...she knew the woman was smart, and figured her to be a capable fighter judging by her inclusion on the team. But she didn't seem to be..._ enhanced _ in any way. _ Maybe because Fury wanted a SHIELD agent on the team? _ Carol muses, and the thought makes her heart squeeze just a little. Fury probably would have enjoyed telling her about his team that he'd apparently named after her.

"You're thinking too loudly."

Carol laughs. "What?"

"I can practically hear the gears grinding."

Carol opts for bluntness, figuring Natasha would appreciate it. "Just wondering why you were included on this Avengers team Fury put together."

Her expression shifts to one that's a mixture of incredulous and amused. "Ouch."

Carol rolls her eyes. "Shut up, I didn't mean it that way. I just realized that I don't really know much about you all, and I just wondered if you were…"

"Hiding a superpower?" Natasha finishes, amusement dancing in her eyes.

"Yeah."

"Nope," she says, the 'p' popping off her lips loudly. "Just a regular ol' human as far as I know." Carol nods, though she files away the "as far as I know" comment for further scrutiny later. "And as for why I was an Avenger, you'd have to ask Fury. I never knew why I was shortlisted for it."

Carol's gaze narrows as she considers the somewhat blasé response. She calls bullshit, but is confused why Natasha would respond that way. She didn't seem the type to bother with false modesty.

"Maybe he wanted an in with the team. Or maybe it was just how the cards fell with everything happening so quickly," Natasha adds after another quick sip of vodka.

"Sounds like he knew what he was doing to me. From what I've heard, you were one of the only ones with any sense," Carol answers with a shrug.

Her head tilts as she turns to look at Carol. "What's Rhodey told you about me?"

Carol isn't surprised she sussed out the source of her information. The woman didn't get to be a master spy and assassin without being adept at intelligence gathering, after all. "He said you all had some kind of blow up over some governmental control, and that you switched sides in the end because you realized shit had hit the fan in a bad way and we're trying to minimize it."

Natasha's gaze turns back out over the water. "Yeah. They weren't gonna stop, and ultimately we played it wrong from the start. Continuing the fight wasn't going to solve anything. That Rhodey got hurt as a result is my-"

"He doesn't blame you for it."

"I know," she says, her head turning to face Carol again. "He's far too pragmatic for that."

"But you still regret it."

She shrugs. "It should have played out a different way. All of it should have. But that's how we got here, isn't it? No way to change the past. Not that we've been able to find anyway," she finishes, a tinge of bitterness creeping into her tone.

"Not yet," Carol amends, somehow feeling optimism brimming.

There's a fleeting smile on Natasha's lips before it slips away. "Not yet," she echoes with a nod.

They sit quietly for a little while, each lost in their own thoughts. Natasha takes a sip from the bottle every so often, and Carol wonders how she isn't drunk, because she _ knows _ Nat hasn't been eating much. Rhodey had mentioned it the last time they spoke because he was worried about her. _ Maybe the stereotypes about Russians and vodka are true after all... _

"Can I ask you something?" Carol asks, breaking the companionable silence.

Natasha arches an eyebrow as she turns to scrutinize Carol. "Why are you asking permission? Since I've known you, you've never stopped to ask before doing something."

"You make it sound like I'm a total bitch."

Natasha snorts in amusement. "Funny, usually that's how people describe me," she replies before taking another sip of vodka. She's made her way through a little over a quarter of the bottle since Carol had arrived, and it wouldn't be a surprise to see the rest of it disappear in a timely fashion at the rate she's going.

"You're deflecting."

She shrugs. "I just meant you aren't the type to ask for permission to do something. You've always just done it."

Carol breathes in deeply and exhales heavily. "I know I'm arrogant. Having this kind of power…" she trails off as she squeezes her fists and they glow with energy for a moment. "Especially when it's unchecked most of the time...it's intoxicating and it shapes your view of things. But I've been trying to be more… I don't know, aware of things, I guess you could say. Ask before making assumptions and taking action."

Natasha turns to face her again. Even in her slightly intoxicated state her gaze is sharp and Carol knows she isn't missing a single twitch of her facial expressions. "What did you want to ask?"

"What's keeping you here?"

"It's home. Or what's left of it anyway." Her reply is said as a matter of fact. It's not emotionless, but it's also not giving away much.

"Even with everyone gone?"

Natasha shrugs. "Someone's gotta keep this going. You, Rocket and Nebula are covering a lot of ground already, Okoye is busy enough with Wakanda, and Rhodey does too much as it is."

"And the others? Rogers, Stark, Banner-"

"They've made their choices. I don't begrudge them that."

"I do," Carol says quickly. "They walked away."

Natasha shakes her head. "It's their right. Would I like them around? Of course. But the way things played out...I don't blame them for trying to find a slice of life for themselves."

"But not us?"

"You've been at this longer than any of us. Wouldn't blame you if you wanted to disappear. But I don't think you will."

Carol eyes Natasha for a moment, trying to identify the emotions swirling in her eyes. But the former spy is as enigmatic as ever. "You worked for SHIELD before the Avengers. That means you've been at this a long time too. Seems to me you've earned the right to walk away too."

"It's not as cut and dry as that. I'm not wired to walk away."

It feels like a sidestep to Carol, but she doesn't know enough about Natasha to call her out on it. "So what, you just stay here indefinitely in a massive empty Compound built for hundreds of occupants?"

Natasha takes a sizeable swig of vodka before she answers. "Guess so."

Carol thinks that maybe she seems bitter about that, but she can't be sure. "You seem set on keeping us together and patrolling for trouble."

She glances over and there's just a hint of amusement in her eyes. "There another question in there somewhere?"

"Why bother?"

"Someone has to do it. We failed to do what we told people we would - protect them. If we can't get everybody back then we owe it to everyone to keep doing what we can. And if that's working to keep everyone who's left safe, then that's what we do."

She doesn't know much about her new de facto teammate, but Carol thinks, based on what she does know and what's learned today, that Natasha Romanoff is one of the good ones.

"Can I ask _ you _ something?" Natasha asks, breaking the silence that had settled over them. Carol turns to look at her and waits until she turns and their gazes meet. Natasha laughs at the raised eyebrow and smirk Carol is sending her way. "What was Nick like back then?"

Carol can't help the laugh, but she's a little surprised by her reference to Fury by his given name. "Well, from what I've heard about him since I left, he was a hell of a lot less mysterious, and definitely less purposefully obtuse."

Natasha chuckles. "He's been like that for the whole time I've known him." She pauses and a small frown creases her brow. "He _ was _ like that."

The reality of him being gone settles over them both like a wet blanket on a flame. Carol sees the mirth fade from Natasha's eyes and her posture drop slightly. They are tells she supposes she probably wouldn't be seeing if not for the vodka.

"Did he tell you what happened to his eye?" Carol asks, hoping to shift things back to a lighter tone.

"Said it was classified."

Carol tilts her head and smiles. "Well, he wasn't _ technically _ lying. Everything surrounding his introduction to me _ was _ classified."

Natasha's gaze narrows and a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. "Why do I feel like it was something dumb?"

"Because it totally was. He got scratched by-"

"A cat! Tell me it was his cat!"

Carol's eyebrows rise in surprise at her sudden enthusiasm and about the fact that she knows about Goose. "You know about Goose?"

"He was around a bit in my early days at SHIELD. I had semi-regular debriefs with Fury back then and Goose was there fairly often. Cute cat, took a liking to me. Never figured Fury for a cat person, but-"

The laughter falls from Carol's lips before she can even think to stop it.

Natasha's brow furrows in confusion. "What?"

"Goose isn't a cat."

Natasha's brow furrows even further. "What do you mean?"

"Goose is a Flerken."

"A what now?"

Carol smirks. "It's an-"

"An alien," she interrupts as the realization washes over her. "I had an alien on my lap. I pet an alien. Multiple times," she says in disbelief, eyes wide.

"A pretty deadly one, too."

Her gaze whips around quickly to meet Carol's at that piece of information. "What?"

"Massive tentacle things hidden in the mouth," she explains, wiggling her fingers next to her own mouth in demonstration. "They can eat entire people, no problem. Multiple people at a time, actually."

"You gotta be shitting me."

Carol laughs at Natasha's expression, wishing she had a camera to capture the moment. "Nope."

"Holy shit. What the hell was Fury doing having that around actual people?!"

Carol shrugs. "Maybe he figured Goose was a good test of character."

Natasha opens her mouth to respond, but closes it quickly as she seems to consider the possibility. "That actually makes a lot of sense," she answers finally.

Carol frowns because it was an entirely unexpected answer.

"I can't believe it. I met an alien _ decades _ before I thought I had!" Carol chuckles again. "Wait, so why did Goose take a swipe at Fury?"

Carol shrugs. "Apparently he pushed his luck with too much cuddling."

"Seriously? He pissed off a ca- A very cat-like alien?"

Carol nods. "Yep."

"What an asshole. He always made it sound like it was some big, dramatic thing. Hell, he told Rogers before our little dust-up with Hydra that the last time he trusted someone he lost an eye."

"Man had an image to protect, I guess," Carol offers, but the grin she'd been trying to hold in sneaks out.

"It's like I didn't even know him," Natasha says, but her tone is all teasing.

"You two were close?" Carol asks. She knows Natasha trusted him. She'd found out that Nat had been the reason they kept his message to her sending, even though they had no idea who it was being sent to.

Natasha blows out a breath. "As close as we could be in our line of work. He took a chance on me when I joined SHIELD and he didn't have to. He was there when I needed him, and he trusted me with...more than most."

There's something in her tone at the end that Carol picks up on, but she can't parse out exactly what it is. The mood had shifted down again though and she opts to try and bring it up again. "He sang while washing dishes once. Not half bad, actually. A rousing rendition of Mr. Postman."

Natasha's eyes widen. "You can't say things like that and not have video to show me of it!" she says quickly. "Oh, now we _ have to _ get everyone back just to have you tell me those stories with him in the room!"

Carol grins. "I've got plenty more, don't worry."

"Did he wear trench coats back then too, or is that a new thing?"

"Trench coats? What is he, a villain in a kid's movie?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyone spot that the conversation was mentioned in an earlier chapter? 😉
> 
> I know the perspectives are all over the place, but these absolutely all happen in the same universe. or...at least they're intended to be.
> 
> as always, any thoughts, comments, or feedback is appreciated! I always love seeing what y'all think and feel about the chapters.
> 
> and a reminder as well that if you're enjoying this and want more in a similar style, but on stuff that happened pre-endgame - check out my other story, Conversational Junctures, which gets updated on the weeks this one doesn't, lol.


	34. We Can Test That Theory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhodey does a favour for Pepper and attends a certain young Stark's birthday party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> challenged myself to write one that wasn't quite so heavy on the angst (I only partially succeeded, haha), and involved a few characters instead of the more typical Nat + one other.
> 
> enjoy.

“Hey, Pepper,” Rhodey says as he brings the phone to his ear.

“Hey, Rhodey.” He can hear Tony talking to Morgan in the background and smiles at the mental image of his best friend arguing with a toddler. He knows from experience Morgan usually wins the arguments, much to Tony's chagrin and everyone else's amusement.

“You need me to pick up something on the way?” he asks as he starts looking for his keys.

“Actually, yes.”

He's a little surprised that Pepper, the most prepared person he's ever met, has forgotten something. “Sure thing. What is it?”

“It's not a what, it's a who.”

Rhodey blows out a breath quietly because he knows exactly who Pepper's talking about - Nat. “It's not gonna be easy. You know how she is now.”

“I know,” Pepper says, her tone deflating in recognition. He knows she's well aware of the ways in which Natasha has changed. She'd tried a few times to invite the redhead over for lunch, but Nat had always politely declined. “But it's important to me,” she continues before she pauses. “And to Tony.”

Rhodey sends a silent thanks that the hatchet between Nat and Tony had been buried. While he wasn't trying to help her in straight-forward ways, Tony did ask after her now and then, and he'd made sure that groceries were delivered to the Compound whenever Rhodey was away for long periods of time. Not to mention that Tony seemed genuinely worried at the idea of her becoming singularly focused on work.

“No promises, but I'll see what I can do.”

“Thank you, Rhodey,” Pepper says sincerely, and he can tell from her voice that it really does mean a lot to her. Sometimes he forgets that Nat and Pepper had known each other a long time, and that they'd grown close too. They'd had coffee dates and gone out for brunch whenever they both happened to be in the same place at the same time.

He sighs lightly.  _ Who knew a three-year-old's birthday party carried so much weight? _

“Of course.”

“Morgan can't wait to see her Uncle Rhodey.”

“It's not me who needs convincing to come to the party,” he remarks dryly.

“Well, you can tell her that Morgan is equally excited to see her Aunt Natasha.”

“I'll see you soon.”

“Good luck,” Pepper says before ending the call.

Rhodey slides the phone back into his pocket and turns down the hallway leading to Nat's office. He blows out a breath.  _ This isn't gonna be easy. _

* * *

He finds Nat exactly where he thought she'd be - at her desk. She's leaning over, elbow propped up on the desk and cheek resting on her fist as she scrolls through some information on a tablet. Judging by the deep crease in her brow, whatever she's looking at isn't good news, and he guesses it's probably to do with Barton. They'd both gotten the report earlier in the day about another grisly murder scene with blood sprayed across the walls and heads chopped clean off. It hadn't been pretty, and he still can't believe it's Barton.

She must hear him approach because she lifts her head up off her fist and looks at him. “Thought you left already.”

“You trying to get rid of me, Romanoff?” he quips, hoping to keep the mood light because he knows asking her to leave the Compound is going to bring out a reaction from her.

“Yeah, because there's clearly not enough room for the both of us in this facility,” she replies drolly while rolling her eyes. The sarcasm was a welcome reminder that the Nat he knew from before the Snap was still in there somewhere.

“Clearly not,” he agrees with a smile. He thinks about continuing with the small talk but instead he opts to dive right into the reason he'd sought her out.  _ No need to prolong it, _ he thinks. “You ready to go?” The crease in her brow returns, this time out of confusion and he sighs because it's clear she doesn't know what he's talking about. “Morgan's party, remember?”

She recovers quickly as realization blooms in her gaze and she sits up straight. “Right. Let me grab the gift so you can-”

“Nat,” he interrupts again, “I'm not taking your gift. I'm taking  **you** .”

“You know I can't leave, Rhodey.”

“Yes, you can. You just  _ won't _ .”

She bristles at his pointed words and her eyes flash with renewed stubbornness. “Someone should be here.”

He only just manages to keep his eyes from rolling. “Bullshit. Friday can monitor the channels and forward any emergency messages to our phones.”

“I don't think-”

“It's a good idea?” he finishes. “I disagree. It's been way too long since you've left this place. It's not healthy, Nat.”

“Hovering grandmother isn't a good look on you, Rhodey,” she says, words meant to slice at him, but he lets them roll right off. This was nothing compared to dealing with the sullen, drunk Tony Stark of a little over a decade before.

“My grandmother was one of the toughest people I've ever met, so the joke's on you,” he volleys back. “You want to come up with another deflection, or can we just agree I'm right?”

She glares at him, but it lacks the penetrating force that he'd come to expect from her back in the day.

“C'mon, Nat, do me the courtesy of not trying to bullshit me.” He lets those words hang for a moment before he continues, this time a little softer. “I know this is what's keeping you grounded, but you gotta live a bit too, Nat. It's not walking away from your post; it's taking a little r and r.”

He can see her waging a war in her own head whether to accept his words, but he's honestly not sure which way she's leaning. Nat had always been unpredictable like that.

He sighs lightly. “Look, I didn't want to have to play this card, but there's a little girl there who is very excited to see her aunt. You really want to disappoint her?”

Nat's expression twists and he can't quite pin down what it represents.  _ Resignation that she can't be happy because she failed everyone? Frustration that a three-year-old had her wrapped around her finger? _

“Pepper would understand,” she begins, but he can tell even she knows it's a weak argument. “She'd explain it to-”

He interrupts her quickly, not letting her argument build any steam. “Pepper was the one who asked me to make sure you came. So, go take a shower, clean yourself up, grab your gift for Morgan, and we'll go.”

Nat seems to weigh his words as she holds his gaze. A few moments of pointed silence pass before she reluctantly sags back in her chair. “Fine, but that's a low blow, Rhodes.”

“Only bring 'em out when they're necessary, Romanoff. And don't pretend like you don't fight dirty when you need to. Now go. I don't want to be late.”

* * *

Natasha had been quiet the whole ride to Tony and Pepper's lake house, but despite her earlier efforts at arguing her way out of going she didn't seem to be at all anxious to be away from the Compound. She checked her phone every so often, but to be fair that could be out of boredom since she'd let him drive.

_ But she's always had an excellent poker face _ , his mind reminds him.

He knows that it was an intentional choice by her to immerse herself in keeping on top of potential threats and helping to coordinate responses to the incidents that popped up across the globe and the galaxy. Quarterbacking the team's efforts at keeping the peace helped her stay grounded and avoid falling into the general depression and despair that had claimed so many in the wake of Thanos' actions.

_ Her depression is just of the more functional variety, _ his mind reminds him.

He's pulled from his thoughts when he realizes they've reached their destination. He pulls into the driveway and parks next to Happy's car, mindful to leave enough room for Nat to get out. The last thing he needed was Happy's car to get a dent and be forced to put up with the incessant whining from the man.

“Hey,” he says, prompting Nat to turn and face him. “It's not a bad thing to get away from work and get out from behind those same four walls,” he reminds her.

“Compound's got a lot more than four walls,” she replies dryly with a fleeting little smile. It's another glimpse of the woman he’d known  _ before _ Thanos, because it’s exactly the kind of thing the Nat of years ago would've said.

He arches an unimpressed eyebrow. “I know it means a lot to Morgan and Pepper, and I know it's not easy-”

“I don't need another pep talk, Rhodey,” she says, interrupting him a bit brusquely. “You already called me out on my shit back at the Compound. I'm here. Let's get this over with.”

“Yeah, okay,” he replies with a nod.

_ Wasn't really going for a kid's birthday party being something to 'get over with' but I'll take what I can get I suppose _ .

He watches as she steps out of the car and then opens the back door to retrieve a gift bag from the backseat. He follows suit, opting to twist around and snag his own gift before exiting the car.

“My, my, my. Look what the cat dragged in,” Tony drawls as he walks up to them, a bright birthday hat slightly askew on his head.

“Which one of us is the cat?” Rhodey asks wryly as he opens his arms up to hug Tony.

“I'm not answering that on account of there not being an answer that doesn't end with me being harmed in some way.”

He can see Nat roll her eyes. “It's good to see you, Tony,” she says, leaning in to give Tony a quick hug. The sentiment is genuine even if the tone itself is a little cordial, and Rhodey is thankful once again that the hatchet between them appears to be long since buried.

“Likewise, Red. Wasn't sure Rhodey was gonna be able to drag you outta that self-imposed dungeon. Can't blame you though. It's a nice dungeon, as they go. Had a great designer I'm told.”

“How have you put up with him all these years?” she asks, turning to face Rhodey.

Rhodey chuckles. “I just stick around for the tech,” he quips.

“Honey bear, that's not nice. You're hurting my feel-”

“Morgan around here somewhere? Or are we stuck being entertained by you all afternoon?” Nat interrupts, and Rhodey can see the beginnings of a smirk tugging at her lips but it doesn't quite manifest.

“Okay, first of all - rude. Second of all, kid's out back with Happy. Pepper sent me out as the welcoming committee.” 

“Consider us welcomed,” she says dryly over her shoulder as she begins heading toward the house. Rhodey chuckles at her easy dismissal of Tony. Some things really did never change it seemed.

“You actually managed to get her outta there. I can't believe it,” Tony says, genuinely surprised. “Last time I heard she was practically super-glued to the desk.”

“Oh, she was. Wasn't sure it was gonna happen. But I'm persuasive.”

“She doing okay?” Tony asks quietly as they begin to leisurely walk over and join everyone else. His tone is uncharacteristically serious, and it takes Rhodey a little by surprise.

“Not really,” he answers honestly, “but then none of us really are, you know?”

Tony is quiet for a moment before he speaks. “Thanks for doing this.”

“Of course,” Rhodey dismisses easily, waving it off. “Not an imposition to see my niece.”

He's surprised when Tony ignores the opening for a joke and keeps his more serious tone. “I mean it, Rhodey. I know Pepper really wanted Nat to come, and of course so did Morgan.”

“And what about you?” he asks, genuinely curious to know the answer. Things between them may be civil, but there's still clearly a lot to unpack between them.

“It's good to see her,” he confirms with a nod. Rhodey reads between the lines easily - he wanted her to come. “Besides, it'll get Morgan off my back. Little stinker has been bugging me non-stop asking if she was coming. Pepper too.”

“Well, she better be excited to see me too.”

“Pepper or Morgan?” Tony replies with a grin.

Rhodey shoves him off balance. “Shut up.”

* * *

“Thanks again for coming, Rhodey,” Pepper says as she slides him a beer and takes a seat beside him.

“Of course,” he replies swiftly while tipping the bottle toward her in thanks.

“And thanks for bringing Natasha,” she adds, tone a little hushed. “It means a lot to Morgan that she came.”

“And to Tony,” he adds with a nod.

Pepper hums in agreement. “He'd never say it, but he's worried about her. Sometimes he disappears into his lab to tinker with old Avengers tech for hours. Making upgrades on suits and weapons no one needs… more than once I've found him working on schematics for new Widow’s bites and batons.”

He smiles knowingly. “He wants to protect the ones he cares about.”

“Yeah,” Pepper breathes out, sounding grateful that he understands. “She seems to be doing okay though,” she says, nodding toward Nat.

Rhodey follows her gaze and finds Morgan sitting happily on her aunt's lap, hands clutching the new book she'd gotten as a gift from Nat. There's a wide smile on her face as she points to various things in the pictures excitedly and twists to look up at Nat every so often for an explanation. What's most striking to him is the smile on Natasha's face though. He hasn't seen her smile like that in  _ years _ . The tension has disappeared from her posture almost entirely, and he can see the happiness in her expression is genuine.

He realizes suddenly he hasn't responded to Pepper's comment and he lets his gaze shift back. “She's like all of us. Some days are better than others.”

Before Pepper can respond Tony appears carrying three plates of cake. He slides one plate over to Rhodey, leaves one in the middle of the table, and keeps the third for himself before he takes a seat across from Pepper.

“Who's that for?” Pepper asks, nodding toward the extra plate.

“You, obviously.”

“Me?”

“Yeah.”

“I told you I didn't want any.”

“Well, yeah, but you always say that and then you steal some of mine.”

“I don't steal anything,” she protests. “I ask.”

Rhodey sees Tony’s eyes begin to roll before he clearly thinks better of the action. “And how exactly am I supposed to say no to you?”

“It's a pretty simple word,” she retorts. “Two letters, one syllable…”

“Pep,” he says, exhaling heavily.

“I'm just saying, there's no need to make me out to be-”

“I'm not making you out to be anything except a wonderful mother, wife, and general all-around amazing person.”

“Lay it on a little thicker,” she retorts with a roll of her eyes.

“See! I can't win! I refuse you cake, and you get grumpy. I bring you cake, and you get grumpy.”

“Say grumpy one more time and you'll find out what it really means.”

“It's extra cake, okay?” he says quickly, hands held up in innocence. “Up for grabs for anyone who might want it.”

Rhodey chuckles at Tony and Pepper's mirrored looks of exasperation at each other.  _ Some things never change _ .

“You know, I never woulda figured her to be the nurturing type in those early days,” Tony says, clearly eager to change the subject as he points his fork towards Nat who is now tickling Morgan lightly, prompting a fit of giggles, “but she's always been so good with kids.”

“That's true,” Pepper agrees. “Morgan was an angel in her arms as a baby. Even if she'd been in the middle of a screaming fit, as soon as she was with Nat she'd calm right down.”

“Yeah, that was a real boost to my parenting self-esteem,” Tony grumbles before stabbing at his piece of cake.

Rhodey chuckles. “I think it's a Nat thing. Morgan screamed in my arms too, don't forget.”

“Well, I suppose she did have practice,” Tony muses. “She was Auntie Nat to Barton's kids.”

There's a brief, uncomfortable silence as the weight of the use of the past tense hits them all. None of them had really known the Bartons well, but their loss still stings.

“She's got a big heart. Always has,” Rhodey says, thinking of all the times Nat had made an effort to chat with him when he'd been around the Tower before he'd joined the team, how she'd always listened to his take on things even if it wasn't strictly required, and how she made sure to check in with him periodically while he was away on liaison business, even in the midst of her own struggle. She clearly cared far more than people gave her credit for.

“Yeah,” Tony agrees. “Just never figured a spy and assassin could be so warm and nurturing. You know?”

“She's always been more than that, Tony,” Pepper chides gently.

“Of course,” he replies quickly. “I just mean with everything she's gone through…” he trails off, but they all know what he's referring to. While they'd never directly read any of the information dumped onto the internet in the wake of taking down Hydra, enough of it had made front page news for them to get the gist of some of the horrors she had lived through.

“Like I said, she's got a big heart,” Rhodey offers, watching as Morgan hops off Nat's lap and runs toward them. He watches as Nat gets up and follows at a far more leisurely pace.

“Mommy!”

“Hi!” Pepper says with a wide smile, opening her arms and bracing for the impact of Morgan's jump.

“You get through all of War and Peace?” Rhodey quips just as Nat reaches the table.

“No way, gotta be something Russian. What's the name of that Dostoyevsky one?” Tony asks, head tilting up in thought.

“Please tell me that you don't  _ actually _ think he  _ only _ wrote Crime and Punishment,” Nat replies.

Tony snaps his fingers and points to her. “Crime and Punishment, that's the one.”

“A man of true culture, ladies and gentlemen.”

“Why thank you,” he replies easily with a shit-eating grin spreading.

“If you all are done discussing literature that is quite obviously not age appropriate for our daughter, Morgan would like a photo with her Aunt Natasha,” Pepper interjects, wisely nipping a potential verbal sparring match between them in the bud.

Nat smiles as she turns to face Pepper and Morgan. “Sure thing.”

“And Mommy!” Morgan declares as she scrambles off Pepper's lap and over to Nat.

“I guess I'm in it too,” Pepper says with a light laugh as she joins them.

“Me too?” Tony asks.

“No,” Morgan replies flatly and both Rhodey and Nat erupt in laughter.

“Ouch,” Tony says as he pulls out his phone and snaps the photo. “Oh, that's a good one. You look great, ladies. And Nat, you don't look bad either.”

“You're lucky your kid is here, otherwise there'd be significantly more violence happening right now,” Nat mutters with a narrowed gaze.

“Uncle Rhodey too!” Morgan calls out happily, oblivious to the verbal jabs being thrown.

Rhodey chuckles as Tony's expression falls further. “I never predicted a mutiny this early in the game.”

Nat laughs as Rhodey joins them. “She's a Stark and you didn't think she'd cause waves? I guess you are as dumb as you look.”

Rhodey chuckles as Tony bristles, clearly weighing what he can get away with saying in the presence of both Pepper and Morgan. “I'm choosing to let that slide, but only because of the youth present.” He snaps a few photos of the group of them before he pauses to review them.

Rhodey glances at his watch and is surprised to see how late it is.  _ Traffic is gonna be a bitch, _ he thinks miserably. Nat must've caught his action because she opts to verbalise it. “Time to get going?”

He nods. “Yeah, there was that sign for the construction we passed on the way here...it's gonna back things up. We should head out soon otherwise we’ll be stuck in traffic for hours.”

Nat nods in agreement and then begins to collect plates and napkins.

“Oh, don't worry about that, Nat,” Pepper says quickly. “We'll take care of that.”

“Are you sure? I don't mind.”

“No, please. Tony volunteered.”

“More like Tony was voluntold,” Tony mutters. 

“In that case, I need one last hug from Morgan before we go,” she says as she drops to her knees and opens her arms.

Morgan picks up on the cue quickly and jumps into her arms, wrapping her arms around Nat who reciprocates the hug just as tightly. He watches as Nat whispers something in her ear and then suddenly Morgan releases her and launches herself at Rhodey's legs. He bends over and picks her up, letting her snuggle her head onto his shoulder.

“Bye, Uncle Rhodey,” she says softly.

“This is too beautiful,” Tony says dramatically as he snaps another photo.

“You're ruining our moment.”

Tony shrugs. “She's my daughter and you're my best friend. I fail to see how it's not my prerogative to jump in on these things.”

Morgan squirms a little and so Rhodey sets her down. “See you later, Morgan.”

They all watch as she skips away and immediately dives into her new toys, excitement and joy radiating off her.

“Thanks for coming,” Pepper says as she gives Nat a quick hug, followed by Rhodey. “I appreciate you taking the time.”

Nat and Rhodey answer simultaneously. “Of course.”

“Don't be strangers, alright?” Pepper says. She makes eye contact with them both, but lets her gaze linger on Nat to drive home the request. Nat obliges her with a small nod and a smile. “Drive safe,” she instructs.

“With grandma driving that's not a concern,” Nat quips as she gestures to Rhodey with her thumb before she starts walking toward the car.

“I told you already, my grandmother was tough. And besides, it just so happens she had a bit of a lead foot when driving,” he replies as he heads to the car as well. He can hear Pepper and Tony's light laughter behind them.

“How did you end up being such a slow driver then?”

“She's not wrong, Rhodey,” Tony pipes up from behind them. “I always thought a guy who flew in the Air Force would've been more of a speed junkie.”

Rhodey ignores Tony’s words. “You know, you can walk home if you want, Nat.”

“I'd probably get there faster.”

“Keep talking, we can test that theory.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any thoughts/feelings/feedback/suggestions are greatly appreciated! :)
> 
> Have had some trouble carving out writing time lately, so updates may slow down a bit. Certainly not abandoning this story or Conversational Junctures - just going to take a bit of time to build up my drafts folder again!
> 
> Bonus points if you can name which previous chapter the Morgan-Pepper-Nat photo was mentioned! ;)


	35. We're Going Out for Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda meets up with an old friend on the one-year mark of the battle and they discuss life without their former teammate and friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because the mentor-mentee relationship between Wanda and Natasha is just too good to ignore.
> 
> enjoy!

Wanda walks slowly toward the figure in front of the tree that had been planted in her mentor’s honour. She can tell quickly who it is and feels a smile fighting to spread. She hadn’t expected to see anyone and it’s a welcome surprise to see a familiar face after what feels like years.

“You sure are a sight for sore eyes,” he says as he turns to face her, a wide, toothy grin on his face. “Been awhile, Maximoff.”

She nods slowly as she sighs. It _ had _ been quite some time since she’d seen anyone besides Clint. She’d needed time away to gather herself after...well, _ everything _. “It’s good to see you, Sam,” she returns, stepping into his opened arms for a hug. They hold each other tightly for a moment and the familiarity of it is a somewhat painful reminder of just how different everything is now.

“You too,” he replies quietly as they break apart. “I see you had the same idea I did,” he adds with a quick nod toward the tree.

She follows his gaze to the tree which has grown significantly since she’d watched Steve pack down the dirt at its base with his bare hands. She’d been the one to suggest the tree, thinking a memorial hiding in plain sight and only significant to those who knew her was a fitting tribute to a woman who’d been so fiercely private for so much of her life and yet deserved to be honoured for the hero she had been. Wanda had figured she wouldn’t have wanted something big and flashy, and she liked to think that Nat probably would have been amused by the subtlety of the tribute.

“Yeah,” she answers, a bit absently because she doesn’t know what else to say. She’d felt like that a lot over the last year. She’d returned home to Sokovia for a time to try and find some comfort, but the evidence of a world that had lived five years without her had been everywhere. Not to mention that the place held so many memories, from her parents and Pietro, to fighting alongside Vision, Natasha, and the rest of the Avengers. They too were reminders of what had once been but was no longer, and so she’d moved on, travelling through Europe instead.

“It’s been a year and I still can’t quite believe it,” he says quietly.

She nods because she knows exactly what he means. They came back abruptly to a world in chaos and had been thrust into a battle for their lives, but what they hadn’t known was that they had come back to a world without Natasha Romanoff in it anymore. But even as Clint had crumbled as he told her that she was gone, and even as Wanda could feel the guilt and grief rolling off him, she hadn’t quite believed it. Nat had survived so much and had beaten overwhelming odds so many times before that it didn’t seem possible for her to just be gone.

“Man, I miss her,” Sam sighs as he shakes his head slowly.

Wanda can hear the grief in his words and isn’t surprised by any means that even a year later he was still processing the loss. He’d been close with Nat too, after all. She feels her own emotions swell and only manages a quiet, “Me too.” Losing Vision had been heart-wrenching. Coming back and finding out she’d lost Natasha too had wrecked her.

He glances over at her and wraps an arm around her comfortingly. They’re quiet for a bit, each of them just watching the leaves and flowers of the tree rustle in the breeze as they remember their friend and teammate. Wisps of memories float to the surface of her mind, little snapshots of their too brief time together.

_ Wanda lifts her head from her arms at the sound of near silent shuffling of feet, finding a mug of tea being held out to her. She looks up and finds Natasha beside her, offering her a sympathetic smile. _

_ “Can’t sleep?” _

_ Wanda shakes her head. She sees Pietro’s face every time she closes her eyes, and the loss feels brand new all over again. _ ** _Every _ ** _ time. _

_ “It won’t help with your grief,” Natasha says softly as she nods to the mug, “but I find there’s something inherently comforting about a warm cup of tea.” _

_ Wanda wraps her hands around the mug with a small smile. It’s a beautiful gesture from someone who owes her nothing given what she’d made the woman endure. She inhales deeply and the scent of the tea wraps around her like a warm hug because it reminds her of visiting her grandmother. _

_ “I left the jam on the counter, in case you want to add some more,” she adds quietly before she turns and walks out of the room, her footsteps nearly silent. _

_ Wanda blinks as she tries to process the fact that the woman known as the Black Widow, famed for her ice-cold demeanour, had just given her a mug of tea and offered some words of comfort. Perhaps the woman was not nearly as cold-hearted as she was made out to be. _

* * *

_ Wanda feels her frustration swell again and can’t help her magic from exploding out a little, sending the nearby water bottles flying. How she was unable to complete basic strength exercises effectively when she had so much power coursing through her veins was beyond her. Joining the Avengers had seemed like a great idea, but she was struggling where the others were excelling, and it had her somewhat reconsidering her choice. _

_ “Whoa,” Natasha says as she dodges the bottles flying toward her. _

_ “Sorry,” Wanda mumbles as she drops down abruptly to sit on the bench. She can feel the redhead’s gaze on her, but she refuses to look up. She’s embarrassed by her outburst and hasn’t worked up the courage just yet to face the woman who’s been so patient in supervising her training. _

_ “Hey, Steve?” she hears Natasha call out. _

_ “Yeah?” _

_ “I forgot to mention, Wanda and I have some errands to run. We’ll probably miss training this afternoon.” _

_ “What? How come she gets to-” _

_ “Go ahead and finish that sentence, Wilson. I dare you,” Natasha threatens, voice sickly sweet with a lilt of teasing, but dangerous all the same. _

_ “Y’know what? I’m good. I don’t need to be handed my ass by you. Again.” _

_ “Wow. Good looking _ ** _and_ ** _ smart.” _

_ Wanda sneaks a quick peek and sees Sam perk up and grin. “Ha! Take that, Cap. She thinks I’m good looking.” _

_ It’s Rhodey who laughs this time. “Well you can look good doing your next set,” he replies dryly, giving Sam a nudge toward the weights. _

_ “C’mon, sestra,” Natasha says, offering a hand to help Wanda get up. “We’re getting away from all this testosterone,” she adds quietly. _

_ Wanda offers a small smile as she takes Natasha’s hand and lets her help her to her feet. When they exit the training room, Wanda voices the question that’s been sitting in her mind. “Errands?” _

_ Natasha shrugs. “More like a mental health day.” _

_ Wanda’s brow furrows. “Mental health day?” _

_ “Clint used to break me out of my room in my early days at SHIELD for what he called mental health days. We’d watch movies, go grab a bite to eat, play board games, that sort of thing.” _

_ “Clint plays board games?” _

_ Natasha nods. “Yeah, but he’s a little shit about it. Tries to cheat all the time.” _

_ Wanda can’t help the chuckle. “So, we’re going to play board games?” _

_ “Only if you want to,” she says with a laugh. “Really we can do whatever you want. Just something to get your mind off...well, everything.” _

_ Wanda thinks for a moment. “Do you know somewhere I could get my hair cut?” _

_ “Oh, good idea. I’ve been meaning to get mine touched up for weeks. I know someone,” she answers with a nod. _

* * *

_ “How’s Vision?” Natasha asks quietly as she sits on the couch beside Wanda, curling her feet underneath her. _

_ Wanda tries to keep her face neutral as she realizes Natasha has always known exactly where she’d been sneaking off to. She swallows to rid herself of the lump of anxiety that’s appeared in her throat. She should have known she wouldn’t be able to keep anything from her. _

_ “Relax, I’m not here to bust you,” Natasha says wryly, a smirk twisting on her lips. “I’m just curious.” _

_ “He’s good,” Wanda confirms with a nod. “We just-” _

_ Natasha holds up a hand to stop her. “I don’t need to know details. What’s between you is not my business. _ ** _But_ ** _ .” She holds up a finger meaningfully. “If this is going to be a recurring thing, you’re going to have to start following some rules.” _

_ “Rules?” _

_ Natasha nods. “You don’t go too far from where we are. We need to be able to reach you quickly if something happens.” _

_ Wanda nods in agreement. _

_ “You check in with one of us so that we know you’re safe.” _

_ “If it’s alright, I’d like this to stay between us,” Wanda says tentatively. She’d rather not have to tell Steve, who she suspects would probably be uncomfortable with it, or Sam, who’d probably tease her ceaselessly. _

_ “Alright,” Natasha agrees after a moment of thought, “but if something happens, I’m telling them because they’ll need to know.” _

_ Wanda nods again. “That’s fine. Anything else?” _

_ “Yeah, the most important one. Don’t take any chances.” _

_ Wanda nods again, readily accepting the terms. _

_ “I mean it, sestra.” Nat says it softly, but Wanda can hear the warning and worry in her tone. “Be careful.” _

_ “I will,” Wanda promises. _

* * *

_ “Scared?” Nat asks softly as she steps up to stand next to Wanda, both their gazes looking out over what will soon become a battlefield. _

_ Wanda exhales heavily. “Terrified,” she whispers. _

_ Nat reaches over and gives her hand a squeeze. “Me too.” _

_ Wanda looks over at her mentor in surprise. Natasha? Scared? _

_ “This...this is big. Bigger than Hydra thugs and spies or somewhat sentient robots,” she offers in explanation before she pauses. “At least you’ve got your powers,” she adds with a faint, teasing smile. “Could take down half of them with a temper tantrum, I bet. Certainly a few walls.” _

_ Wanda chuckles half-heartedly at the call back to her early days with the team where she’d been so frustrated with herself that the training room had often been the target of her anger. “I don’t need the temper tantrum anymore.” _

_ “No, you don’t,” Natasha agrees, turning to face her and hold her gaze meaningfully. “You’re way past that now,” she adds, giving her hand another squeeze. _

She’s brought out of her memories when suddenly Sam chuckles. Wanda turns and frowns in a silent question as she meets his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he says, still grinning as he shakes his head. “It’s just… She would’ve hated this.” Wanda’s frown deepens and he continues, gesturing toward them and then the tree. “Us, wasting time staring at a tree when we could be out doing so many other things...she would never have put up with it.”

Wanda finds herself smiling along with him because he’s right. Nat would’ve teased them _ endlessly _ for wasting their time staring at a tree. She would’ve told them not to spend their time mourning her like this, and to instead keep fighting. Or, even more likely, to _ live _.

“Definitely not,” she agrees.

“Hey, you wanna grab a coffee?” he offers. “Maybe catch up on things?”

Wanda smiles warmly because time with a good friend sounds like exactly what her soul could use right now. “I’d love to.”

* * *

They’d opted to grab a couple teas from a café in the nearest town and return to the Compound to walk the grounds. The café hadn’t been particularly busy, but there were more than a few things bound to come up in conversation that were not necessarily public knowledge, so it had seemed the safer option to grab their drinks to go and instead return to the grounds.

“Amazing how quickly they rebuild is going, huh?” Sam remarks as they make their way back toward Nat’s memorial tree, winding through the outside grounds.

“I think everyone wanted some sense of normalcy after everything,” Wanda says as her gaze drifts over the partially completed buildings idly.

Sam nods in agreement. “We represent a safety net for people.”

Wanda hums in agreement. The return of loved ones had been cause for celebration, yes, but it also brought with it many challenges. People had been reaching for any semblance of normal they could grab a hold of, and Pepper, with more composure and elegance than anyone could ever have expected given Tony’s death, had offered to fund the rebuild of the Avengers facility and continue to fund the team as needed.

“So, how’ve you been?”

“Okay,” she answers vaguely. “I’ve been travelling mostly.”

“I heard. That help you get your mind off things?”

His question isn’t accusatory. In fact, she thinks that he’s probably one of few people she knows who truly understand the depth of what she’s lost. “Sometimes.”

“But not often enough?” She nods. “Hard to outrun their memories when they’re everywhere.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, I won’t bother giving you the counsellor spiel. I know you’ve probably heard it before.”

She smiles weakly. “I appreciate that. What about you? I hear you got a promotion?”

He lets out a breathy chuckle. “Something like that. Big shoes to fill though, you know?”

“Steve _ was _ a pretty big guy,” she replies, a smile slyly spreading.

“Making jokes now, huh? Nat really did rub off on you,” he says with a shake of his head and a smile. “Don’t tell me you’re learning to handle knives now too...”

Wanda smiles because the words feel like a compliment of the highest order. “You think she didn’t teach me back then?” Sam’s eyes widen at the thought and she grins. “How’s working with Barnes?”

Sam blows out a breath quickly. “Infuriating. He’s stubborn, obstinate, and difficult. All. The. Time.”

Wanda tilts her head. “English isn’t my first language, but I think those all mean the same thing.”

Sam laughs. “Well then it maybe comes close to actually describing him.”

“He can’t be that bad, he was friends with Steve after all.”

“Don’t forget that Steve was stubborn as hell too. Like two peas in a pod, those two.”

“So why work with him?”

Sam shrugs. “Just sort of happened.”

“Well, like you used to tell me in training, just give it time.”

“Can’t say I’m a fan of this weird role reversal here. Kinda weirding me out, to be honest.”

Wanda chuckles. “That’s all the advice I have, I promise.”

They chat for a bit longer, each catching the other up on what they’d missed in their time apart. But eventually they fall quiet again as they finally reach the tree and take a seat on the nearby bench.

Another memory pops into her head and the words are exiting her mouth before she can even think of stopping. “Do you remember when Nat took us out to that restaurant while we were on the run?” It’s a vague question, but she figures he’ll know what she’s talking about. It’s not as if they ate out often while they’d been staying under the radar.

Sam frowns for a second in thought and then a grin spreads as realization blooms. “Yeah. God, where were we then? Belgium?”

Wanda shakes her head. “The Netherlands. I remember because you’d said that you’d never had Dutch food before and were worried you wouldn’t be able to find something on the menu.”

Sam snaps his fingers and points to her. “You’re right. Damn, that was some good food.”

“We’d been living off sandwiches and protein bars for weeks. I’m pretty sure _ any _ cooked food would’ve been good.”

“Nah,” he dismissed with a wag of his finger. “We’d cooked a little, but that was actually _ good _food.”

_ The door opens suddenly, and Steve, Sam, and Wanda all look up abruptly from their tasks, all ready to jump into action immediately. _

_ “Sorry,” Nat apologizes as she navigates trying to close the door while still holding all the bags of groceries. _

_ “I’ve got it,” Wanda says, twisting her wrist to first shut the door and then engage the locks. _

_ “Thanks,” Nat says gratefully as she passes off some of the bags to Steve who’d hopped up from his chair quickly at her entrance. _

_ “Everything go okay?” Steve asks as he heads to the kitchen. _

_ Nat nods. “All good. I got hit on by the guy at the cash, but that’s not really new for me,” she answers with a grin. _

_ Predictably, Steve’s expression shifts just a little and Wanda swears she sees a hint of colour in his cheeks. She can’t help her smile when Nat meets her eye and winks. _

_ “I’ll bet it isn’t,” Sam calls from the desk where he’s scrolling through the news on a laptop. “Even as a blonde you look good, girl.” _

_ “Lay it on a little thicker, Sam. My ego could use it.” _

_ “Just say the word, Widow. I can turn on the Sam Wilson charm just for you.” _

_ “Anything of note in the news?” Steve asks, clearly aiming to try and get them back on topic. _

_ “Pertaining to us? No. Elsewhere in the world? Depends on your definition.” _

_ Nat chuckles. “I do have some good news actually.” _

_ “Oh?” Wanda says, perking up. _

_ “We’re going out for dinner.” _

_ Steve, Sam, and Wanda all turn to look at her and stare dumbfounded. It’s Steve who finds his voice first though. “Dinner? Out? In a restaurant?” _

_ “Yes,” Nat confirms as she begins to put away some of the groceries into the cupboards. _

_ “Uh, we’re gonna need more than that, Nat,” Sam adds. “You’re the one who’s been drilling all these undercover procedures into our heads for months.” _

_ “I’ve checked it out and there’s no red flags. Owner owes me a favour, actually.” _

_ “Owes you a favour?” _

_ She shrugs casually. “A while back Clint and I helped him clear out some thugs that were giving him a hard time.” _

_ “I swear you told us to avoid running into people we know,” Sam points out. _

_ “I’d forgotten about it, to be honest. I ran into him at the market and he recognized me despite the hair.” _

_ Wanda’s eyes widen. Being recognized usually meant they were moving on, but Natasha seems completely relaxed about the whole thing. _

_ “Thankfully he isn’t an idiot and didn’t make a huge scene. He knows that we’re trying to fly under the radar, is still very appreciative and supportive of what we do, and offered us a meal after they close.” _

_ “Are you sure that’s safe?” Steve asks. “How well do you know him?” _

_ “He’s clean,” she assures him. “He’s a good man. Reminds me a bit of you. Painfully earnest and loyal to a fault.” _

_ Steve smiles a little at her words, but clearly isn’t convinced. “I don’t know, Nat…” _

_ She leans over the counter and hands him a slip of paper. “That’s the address of his place and his name. By all means, go ahead and run some surveillance if it’ll make you feel better.” _

_ “It’s fine,” Steve says, pushing the paper back toward her. Wanda figures he doesn’t want to offend her by questioning her assessment, but still can’t quite bring himself to believe it’s safe. “I’m just-” _

_ “Worried, I know. That’s why we’re going out for dinner. I’m used to this life, but I know you three are getting a bit antsy with everything. I thought this might be a good way to have some time to relax.” _

“God, that _ was _ good food. I wonder if I could find that place again.”

“I’m sure Steve remembers,” Wanda points out.

“Good point. Wonder if the old man would be up to a trip across the pond for some Dutch food. For old time’s sake.”

Wanda smiles. “If he says yes, let me know when you’re going. I’d like to join you.”

He smiles but their gazes naturally drift back to the tree, a reminder of the person who wouldn’t be with them. It wouldn’t be _ quite _ like old times. Still, Wanda finds herself smiling as her memories of that dinner begin to rise to the surface.

_ “Uh, what exactly am I looking at?” Sam asks. _

_ “Just try some,” Nat insists. _

_ “Tell me what it is first.” _

_ “I didn’t realize you were such a child.” _

_ “Hey, I just like to know what I’m eating.” _

_ “Food,” she answers simply, a maddening grin spreading across her face. “You’re eating food.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so - did you enjoy them reminiscing about their time on the run? enjoy Wanda's brief flashes of her moments with Natasha?  
if you have any thoughts, I'd love to hear 'em. always lovely to see what you all think about these. and of course, the feedback is a strong motivator to keep going, LOL.
> 
> apologies to you all - I know it's been a bit since I updated this one. I'm hoping to be a bit more consistent with this one, but things are busy at work and the muse has been a bit quiet lately.
> 
> hope you're all staying safe and are well.
> 
> more to come.


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